Little White Lie
by Epsilon Scorpii
Summary: A harmless dare, and an infiltrated office... Nine-year-old Alex Rider somehow stumbles across Ian's most dangerous secret, but he isn't sure how he's supposed to deal with it. Mini-fic.
1. Chapter 1

Little White Lie

It had only been a harmless dare; a rebellious act of defiance against his guardian, simply just to revel in the joy of doing something he'd been expressly forbidden to. But somehow, nine-year-old Alex Rider has managed to stumble across Ian's most dangerous secret… and he isn't quite sure how he's supposed to deal with it. Mini-fic.

DISCLAIMER: Owning nothing…

* * *

 **Chapter One**

"Alex, I _really_ think this is not a good idea," a small whiny voice said for the umpteenth time, ten feet below from where he lounged. He was lying with two feet propped up against a tree branch in an attempt to coax his friend, Tom, to join him and that it was perfectly safe. He was having no such luck.

"Tom, you were the one who started this," Alex said, unable to hide the exasperation from his voice. "Don't you ever want to see what he hides in his office?" He leaned down a bit to look his friend in the eye, catching hazel with dark brown, but the act caused the branch to wobble precariously. Tom gave a terrified sort of squeak.

"I _know_ Alex but – you know adults, they just keep papers and books and stuff in their office, what else could there be?" Tom offered weakly.

"There could be a U.F.O. or something stashed away in the cupboard! For all the secrecy he maintains, there's got to be _something,"_ Alex retorted, his patience beginning to thin. "Stop whining and get up here will you?"

"I dared _you_ to break into his office," Tom sniped back, terrified at the prospect of climbing up the swaying branch but quite unwilling to admit his fear.

Alex took one last look at his friend and sighed. He knew a lost cause when he saw one. Still, it was too good an opportunity to miss; Jack was still out shopping and wouldn't be back until five at least. And he highly doubted Ian would return from Poland in the span of two days. No, his _guardian_ still had the routine of going 'skiing' and collecting a new series of injuries and scars to perform before returning. Often he wondered how Ian could possibly sustain his 'cool' image while being so embarrassingly accident-prone. Just a week ago he'd returned from his trip to Beijing with a nasty gash across his cheek because he'd fallen down quite a flight of steps after drinking. Ian didn't drink, but apparently it had been necessary to ensure business went well with his clients.

"Stand guard then," Alex called out after his friend, before nimbly twisting his body so that his chest was pressed against bark, and slowly began to inch forwards.

Ian's office was located on the second-floor of their house facing the backyard, and it required an eight-digit passcode that changed every week. There were alarm systems and trick-wires lining across the threshold sometimes, and Ian would be notified every time the edge of the door left the frame. All this was of course, noted by hard experience. Today however, Alex was resorting to his final desperate attempt - to infiltrate the forbidden office through the window.

The only tree they had in their garden was conveniently located outside the box-window, with its branches stretching out towards the non-existent balcony. The trick was to calculate his momentum to the exact; any further and he would crash painfully into the window, any less and he would probably fall to a tragic death or perhaps permanent paralysis. Curiousity and fear fought for supremacy in Alex's heart, but he soon discovered the former won by a large margin.

Steeling himself, he balanced precariously at the edge of branch, which was bent strained to maximum point under his weight. Fragile dry wood creaked ominously in the backyard, earning another muffled squeal from Tom, but he ignored it. Instead he leveled his focus solely on the small ledge outside the window and took in a shallow breath, muscles tensed. Then he lounged.

His legs pushed off the branch even as it snapped with an audible _crack!_ and Tom gave a terrified yell. For a moment he hung in the balance of gravity and weightlessness, but as the ground reached up to claim him he hooked his right arm firmly on the ledge. His muscles screamed at the strain, but Alex gritted his teeth and held on. He finally managed to haul himself up, barely balancing on the little space the ledge provided. He spared a moment to look down and flash Tom a thumbs-up sign. His friend's face was ashen. He couldn't really blame him.

Heart still racing from adrenaline, Alex carefully ran his fingers around the window. It seemed as though Ian had neglected security on this part; there were no alarm wires lined around it save the one connected to the mainstream which circuit ran through the entire house. It was turned off at the moment.

Taking a leaf out of Ian's book, he extracted the tools from his pocket (ironically enough, a present from Ian) and picked the lock with sufficient ease. A moment later, he had landed lightly in the oddly quiet room that was Ian's forbidden office.

X

There was no one in sight, but for some reason Alex seemed to hold his breath as silently dropped onto the floor from the open window. There was a strange aura in the room, and every glance around the office had his conscious mind repeating _illegal, illegal, forbidden_ in a mixture of fear and reverence _._ He felt strangely elated, excited even – at finally managing to outsmart Ian; few people ever got past his uncle. His guardian was careful that way.

The office looked much the same as it had been the first time he'd been allowed to look. The walls and ceiling were painted a darker shade of pastel, a polished wood table facing the door and a soft black leather chair. A single cupboard stood off in the corner. There were four desk drawers with an individual lock each, but Alex didn't have to try them to know that they were locked. Ian's laptop was there too, its silver lid snapped shut against mahogany.

The colours that painted the office were considered warm and harmonized, but there was a cold draught in the room where Alex stood, eyes assessing. An odd chill crept through the cold tiles to his toes and up his spine and spread to his fingers, and he moved away from the window to Ian's desk.

In truth, Alex had managed to obtain Ian's laptop password just three days before Ian left for Poland. It had been approaching dawn then, and he'd woken up from a bad dream with thirst clawing in his throat. With the intent of getting a drink, Alex had crept downstairs but he paused at the landing when he saw Ian slumped over at the dining table.

It was clear that Ian was completely worn out – his head rested heavily against his uninjured arm, and his hurt leg was held stiffly at an uncomfortable angle. Alex suspected the pain was preventing his uncle from moving to his room without creating a huge fuss. And funnily enough, Ian's mouth was hanging slightly open as he slept on.

Alex had barely given the scene much thought before he had snuck back into his room, grabbed his digital camera and zoomed in the focus, training it on Ian. Finally he had _something_ on Ian. A devilish smile played on his lips as he took a few more pictures. The man clearly wasn't as perfect as he thought!

It seemed a bit of a waste to leave it at that, so Alex proceeded to the video settings. _Start: video record._ Alex grinned and pressed the OK button. He hoped Ian would snore.

To his disappointment, Ian immediately twitched slightly, indicating he was about to wake. Sighing, Alex left his camera balanced precariously on the railing and chose to skip down the steps, a little louder than usual.

"Good morning Ian," he said brightly.

Ian looked up, but the pain and fatigue in piercing azure momentarily caught Alex off guard. Alex felt his smile falter slightly, but he stuck out his tongue to cover it up, before entering the kitchen. When he went upstairs with a glass of water in hand, camera in the other, he reflected on Ian's expression and pondered over it. There was just _something_ he couldn't quite place. It couldn't have been fear…

Sub-consciously Alex had reviewed the video, grinning at Ian slumped over beside him laptop. He pressed the fast-forward button after Ian woke and pulled his laptop towards him to start working again. It was towards the last minute that Alex realized, with a jolt of his heart – he had caught Ian typing his laptop password on camera.

He had spent hours reviewing the video; now he knew the passcode by heart. It was a series of numbers with odd alphabets interjected in between, seemingly in complete random number, but Alex knew there was a pattern. He would need next week's password for further analysis, but right now he had what he needed.

Heart in his mouth, Alex approached Ian's laptop and quickly turned it on. The screen lit up at his touch. _Please enter password for user IR._

Without hesitation Alex quickly keyed in the code and pressed ENTER. The keys in the password were arranged vaguely in a pattern of a Celtic symbol for fire in the keyboard. The mouse icon whirled in a circle, before finally permitting access. _Welcome user._ He was in!

Fighting down a triumphant whoop, Alex took to scanning through the files. Most of them required another passcode to view, which irked Alex immensely. Fifteen minutes passed and he was still yet to discover something out of the ordinary of Ian's laptop. The next ten minutes he spent on trying to infiltrate the drawers. The locks proved even more stubborn and complicated, and the only one he managed to pick revealed an empty drawer.

Frustrated, Alex returned to the laptop, sulking. He clicked on the last icon, hardly expecting anything – but there, out from the recycle bin a file popped up on screen, available for viewing. It was titled '09RC. BJG' '. He didn't know what RC stood for, but he guessed that 09 meant the month – and BJG was Beijing.

He clicked on the file and stared at the screen, puzzled. A picture of a dark-haired Chinese man stared back at him, eyes thinned to slits, lips pulled into a mirthless smile. There was a name available below; Zhao Kay Feng. There was a strange scar running down the side of his neck, where the skin was pale and raw.

Alex scrolled down the page, scanning through lists of details when the name of a bar caught his eye. It wrote _'known to frequent Shang Jie Bar.'_ Alex felt something click in his mind as he recalled his last conversation with Ian –

" _You're back."_

" _Fortunately."_

" _In one piece?"_

" _Unfortunately, not quite." There was a hidden wince in the tight lines of Ian's features. The bloody gash running down his face was hardly invisible._

" _Let me see," Alex said sarcastically, "you got involved in a car accident – "_

" _Not exactly," Ian remarked, sounded slightly amused. "I fell down a flight of steps. Drank a shot too much at Shang Jie's Bar. I knew I shouldn't have let them persuade me."_

It had been Shang Jie's Bar alright, Alex was certain of it.

But who was this man? Zhao didn't look like a man who dealt with business; for all he looked he seemed like the leader of a gang. Could Ian possibly be dealing with clients like these in Beijing? Well that would certainly explain the injuries.

He scrolled down to the last page, and there – printed in small but bold red font he read the word 'OVER'.

* * *

For the next few days Alex kept mostly to himself, constantly trying to solve the enigma that was Ian Rider.

It still brought him a chill when he thought of it. He'd looked up Zhao; there were hardly any records on him, but he managed to find a small article on the man from a local Chinese newspaper. Apparently the man had been killed in a brawl, and his death was dated fifteenth. Ian had returned from Beijing the very next day.

Had it really been a coincidence? But why would Ian store information on Zhao in his laptop? Why did the name Shang Jie Bar crop up again? Most importantly, what did 'OVER' mean?

Tom refused to talk to him at school, opting to only communicate by grunts and one-worded answers. Apparently he was still angry at being left behind standing guard in the backyard when Alex was the one who invited him over. Alex didn't know how to deal with it; he wasn't sorry – Tom himself had refused to scale the tree – so he'd settled himself to a few more days of hostile silence. After all, he knew Tom never bore grudges for long.

On the down side, his attention kept wandering, even when he was out on field. As a result he'd missed a goal during his match. Luckily he'd been able to pull upfront with two consequent goals, but it had been a close shot. Jack had bought him a triple scoop ice-cream to celebrate his victory, and Tom was in such high spirits that he forgot his hostility towards Alex.

The fifth day of his discovery came with the arrival of Ian Rider, back from his trip to Poland. He walked in the dining room when Alex was cleaning up the rest of the pot roast Jack made for dinner.

There was a short pause when both nephew and uncle surveyed each other, almost critically. Alex didn't give Ian the chance to comment on the new throbbing bruise he'd gotten on his cheekbone from football practice and broke the silence first.

"You're back," Alex commented, keeping his tone carefully neutral. His gaze trailed down to Ian's right leg which was wrapped in a cast. "…not in one piece this time, I see."

Ian gave a slight chuckle. "You could say so. I was – "

"Skiing, and you lost control and had a painful tumble," Alex snapped, suddenly angry. "Yeah, I get it."

Startled blue eyes snapped to him, piercing and demanding, but Alex didn't care. He turned away and stabbed a potato viciously, purposely not looking at Ian. He could tell his guardian wanted to say something, but there was a building tension in the atmosphere and he couldn't be bothered to relieve it.

"How was the match?"

Alex froze in mid-chew, taken aback slightly – he certainly hadn't expected Ian to remember. He opened his mouth to reply, but Jack's timely appearance saved him from answering.

"So you _did_ remember" Jack commented with a smile, mirroring Alex's thoughts exactly. She was still wearing a kitchen apron. "They won spectacularly Ian, you really should have seen them! Alex was brilliant," she added, ruffling the younger boy's hair affectionately, causing him to scowl.

Ian nodded slightly, sending Alex a cursory glance. "Perhaps – "

"It's okay," Alex cut in for the second time that day, rather frostily. "You already promised next time Ian."

He finished his potato, grabbed his plate and left for kitchen to wash the dishes, ignoring the gaze burning holes in his back.

Xxxxx

It wasn't wise to antagonize Ian Rider.

That he knew, and he had learnt the hard way about talking back to his guardian – or being rude to anyone at all in general. Ian did not deliver blows, nor did he subject Alex to painful spanking often – though he would hardly forget his first and last experience – he just simply ignored the boy. There was once when Ian had simply left home even though he'd just returned from India without informing his nephew, and all day round no caretakers turned up. The refrigerator was devoid of food, even Alex's money had been taken. He'd been forced to survive off his classmates (Tom especially) and he earned his lunch mostly by dares and bets among his peers. He'd always been a fast runner.

Alex's classmates thought it was fun living without an adult. "You could stay up all night if you wanted to," they told him. They failed to understand why Alex was not excited at the prospect of having the house to himself, or that he had the freedom to go wherever he wanted to without Ian's restrictions. They seemed unable to grasp the _point_ that that was Alex's life in general, and that he was tired of living alone. The times when his guardian came home were few; that Ian would sacrifice them for the sake of _punishment_ made his heart burn with something more than anger. Ian couldn't help the business trips; that he could.

But well, _this_ time Ian Rider was hardly viable to go anywhere, Alex reasoned to himself. Ian's leg was already wrapped in a cast, and he was pretty certain Ian's shoulder was hurt somehow; his posture had been rigidly stiff when he moved. And besides, he wasn't six anymore. Even more importantly, he didn't need any caretakers; he had Jack. Unless Ian Rider decided to fire her, there wasn't much else he could do to make Alex miserable.

Still, he felt oddly fidgety as he crawled into bed and buried his face firmly in his pillow, trying to pretend everything was normal when it wasn't. He was sure Ian wouldn't notice; he wouldn't _know._ But normally on such evenings he would still be downstairs, fighting off sleep and pretending to struggle with his homework while he taunted and jabbed at his uncle good-naturedly across the table.

A moment later the _something_ prickly stabbing him slowly inside was beginning to get harder to ignore, and he was soon suspecting the culprit to be guilt. Though that didn't quite make sense – what had he done wrong? Aside from being cold and more than a little rude? Ian had been asking for it; he _had_ lied right to his face, and Ian was a raging hypocrite for forbidding him to do the same. He could see it now, something years of observations and analysis had taught him – the subtle difference between Ian's smile and the one that reflected in his eyes. The thin line between a blatant, outright lie and not telling the whole truth. _Why_ couldn't Ian tell him what really happened? Did he still treat him as a child?

But what _was_ the truth? His guardian was a contract killer? Just because the man Zhao had died coincidentally the day before Ian left for London, and they'd probably met at Shang Jie's didn't mean Ian was responsible for his death. Even Ian's story seemed more believable. Or perhaps Ian was dealing with shadier figures in the society. Perhaps backdoor tax reduction? The latter was probable given Ian's claim at working in an overseas financial bank, and of course Ian would want to keep it from him… but that didn't seem quite right either. He couldn't imagine uptight and perfectly law-abiding _Ian Rider_ dabbling in anything less than legal.

Upstairs, there was the sound of a door opening, punctuating the stagnant silence. Alex sat half-upright, straining his ears, but he couldn't hear anything else. There was a soft muffled sound that could have been footsteps, but for all he knew he could have imagined it.

For a moment Alex considered going out. He pushed off the covers and walked to the other end of the room to put on his slippers even though he normally wouldn't have bothered with it. But then as he reached for the doorknob, he heard a loud click of the switch. The crack of light under his door disappeared and his room was plunged back into darkness.

Alex gave up and walked back to his bed, where he lay down and stared at the ceiling. He imagined he heard footsteps pause outside his bedroom door, but he couldn't be bothered to check. It was probably nothing anyway.

He listened quietly for a full moment, and finally he heard the door upstairs snap shut. Alex rolled over his bed and walked towards his desk. He switched on the lamp and drew out the drawer with one hand. The newspaper cutting of Zhao's picture stared right back at him. Under the dim light the words 'accident' and 'death' seemed to stand out to him, and Alex snapped the drawer shut again with determination in his eyes.

If Ian wasn't going to be honest with him, Alex just had to find his own way into his secret.

 **A/N: I've been trying to regain inspiration to continue my other WIPs, Last One Standing especially as I feel guilty for leaving you guys so long. This has been an idea I've had for a long time; no worries though, it's a mini-fic and will have 9 or 10 chapters tops. I finally wrote this out in the faint hopes that I'll get back my flow for writing in the AR fandom, goodness knows it's been a very long time. Hope you liked it!**

 **Please review! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Hey! Thanks a lot to my dear reviewers. Hope the wait has been worth it. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: All credits go to Anthony H.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

"ALEX!" a voice hollered loudly outside his bedroom door. This was followed by a consecutive series of loud 'thumps' where a fist met wood. "Alex Rider! You are running – very – late! ALEX!"

Alex lay on his bed motionlessly and stared up at the ceiling. He gave no indication of having heard the racket Jack was making outside. Twice a minute his eyes would dart over to check the clock on his desk. It currently read 8.53 a.m., which meant there were seven minutes left before class started, but Alex couldn't care less. He was determined to leave it to the last minute before leaving his room.

Outside Jack gave the door one last frustrated kick before she paused, momentarily out of breath.

Ian who had been putting his patience levels to the test from the moment the commotion started upstairs, took the opportunity to cut in before the racket could resume.

"Leave it Jack," Ian called. "He won't be out for another – " he checked the clock for a second time. " – two minutes."

Jack descended a few steps and came to stand on the landing. Despite the early hour she was looking rather disheveled. "Alex isn't normally this late," she said rather pointedly, as if to emphasize that she knew better than he did. Ian however looked unconcerned.

"I'm not usually around either," he replied.

At this, Jack looked rather thrown, confused as to what he actually meant. Ian didn't bother to enlighten her and returned to his paper calmly. He had yet to get down to the reason behind Alex's obvious hostility towards him last evening, and he wasn't looking forwards to it – but he had a plan for that. For it to be put into operation though, it would require Alex to actually appear, in which the nine-year-old boy showed no sign of doing.

For precious few minutes blissful silence returned to their household once more. Jack, however, wasn't one to remain quiet for long periods of time, especially when she was feeling anxious. Ian's mouth twitched when she began to tap her foot impatiently, which then evolved into a short-distance pacing – of all places, on the hollow landing of the staircase. Every little scuffle and thud echoed softly around the room thus heightening their annoyance factors. Ian put down his paper and shot her an irritated glare. Jack caught it and pinned her mouth into a thin line, but – thank heavens for small blessings - she stopped, if not rather reluctantly.

"If he's not out in two minutes, I am so barging in there," Jack declared.

Ian made no comment to that. His gaze was attracted to the changing digits in the clock, which now showed 8.55 A.M.. And as he had quite accurately predicted, as if on cue, the door to Alex's room flew open. Ian just had enough time to shoot Jack a smug look before Alex appeared looking properly disheveled: a bag strap barely slipping off his shoulder and his blonde hair completely unkempt. Ian's expression changed to one of being completely unimpressed, especially when the door slammed shut behind Alex with another resounding 'bang'.

"Morning Jack!" Alex said breathlessly before he proceeded to jump down the steps two at a time. Ian resisted the urge to rub his temple as even more jarring noises punctuated the calm morning air. He could have sworn Alex used to be a quiet boy when he was younger. Jack was definitely a large influence on the boy.

"Alex! You haven't brushed your hair!" Jack protested from the railing.

Alex complied by simply running his free hand through his blonde hair as he hopped off the last step. There was a brief moment where their eyes met when Alex finally looked up and saw Ian at the dining table. A strange undecipherable emotion flitted across the boy's face far too quickly for Ian to catch. It was gone within the heartbeat. Then the boy tore his gaze away and called out a much less enthusiastic greeting, in no particular direction. "Morning Ian."

Ian's brow furrowed. Something was definitely off with the boy. He had no time to ponder over this however as Alex turned away and began fiddling with a bag strap which, in Ian's opinion looked perfectly fine.

"I've packed your breakfast!" Jack shouted from upstairs. "It's on the table!"

Alex turned to the dining table, avoiding Ian's gaze all the while before he swiped at the pack of sandwiches Jack had prepared for him. "Thanks Jack!" he called, almost cheerily. When he made to move however, Ian's hand had clamped down on his wrist, preventing him from leaving. Alex turned around in confusion and tried to pull away, but Ian did not relinquish his hold.

"Sit down Alex" he said calmly, as if Alex wasn't in a rush to school and there wasn't a mildly chaotic bout of cleaning upstairs, where Jack had accidentally knocked over Alex's lampstand.

Alex stared at him in a mixture of bewilderment and incredulousness. In truth, Alex was in no mood to take orders, least of all from his guardian. He had a feeling that Ian knew that he had purposely run late to avoid any encounters. After all the tension between them since last night hadn't quite dissipated, and Alex wasn't in a mood to talk to his uncle yet. Not until he got to the bottom of the 'Zhao' business, or better yet – the reason behind Ian's blatant lies about everything he did.

There was a moment's pause before something in Alex's eyes shuttered, and he replied promptly in a completely level voice, "Sorry, would really love to but class starts in four minutes and I need to go."

Ian remained equally stubborn. Of course, that in itself held more weight seeing as he was Alex's legal guardian. "Sit down," he repeated. "You're not going to school today."

 _That_ snapped Alex's attention over, like a fish to a hook. "What?" he said, so taken aback he completely forgot his previous resoluteness to avoid all communication with Ian. "Why not?"

Ian was in no rush to reply and he motioned for Alex to sit. At this, the rebellious streak in Alex flared again, and Alex pinned his lips in irritation. "There's German class today, I'm left behind enough as it is," he said.

This time, Ian snorted. "As if you aren't already fluent enough," he said in a deadpan sort of voice. "Are you going to sit down or not?"

Alex glared back at his uncle, but in the end he very reluctantly dragged himself over to the table. He slid into the farthest possible seat from Ian and shrugged off his backpack. "I hope you aren't making me skip class all for the sake of having breakfast with you" he said. "Absolutely fun as it is, I would actually prefer to sit in History class."

Ian raised an eyebrow. Clearly something was upsetting the boy, but he had yet to figure out what. By logical deduction he would assume that Alex was being sour about Ian missing his match when he did say he would try to make it the last time, but that didn't seem right either. While other kids might have been, Alex didn't seem to bother about such things. Or perhaps he did. The more Alex grew, the less certain Ian became of him.

"You're learning archery today" Ian said instead, choosing to ignore Alex's hostility for the time being. "I figured it would be more interesting than History class."

The effect was instantaneous. The boy's eyes widened dramatically, and all traces of annoyance disappeared from his face. Ian had to fight a smile at Alex's obvious failure at hiding his excitement.

"Seriously?"

Jack who had just emerged from Alex's room with a broom in hand and laundry in another disagreed heartily. "Ian, you can't just pull him out of class like that!" she exclaimed. Ian shrugged easily in response, knowing full well it would only add to her ire.

"I don't see why not."

True to his predictions, the American redhead only became more incensed. "Because Alex needs his education, that's the answer to your 'why not'," Jack retorted heatedly. "I get it you're rarely ever back from wherever you are, but that's no excuse to have Alex miss school whenever you feel like it! And besides, how are you going to teach him anything with a leg like that?" She pointed at Ian's injured leg wrapped in a cast.

"If I _feel like_ what I'm about to teach Alex is more important than school lessons, then I'm pulling him out," Ian said pleasantly, "and the leg's healing just fine, thanks for your concern."

Jack thinned her lips in obvious irritation, and for a moment Ian had to marvel how alike Alex's previous expression had been to hers. Talk about influences indeed. Across the table, however, Alex's face had lit up – something Ian hadn't seen for what felt like a very long time. The cloud that hung over Alex's face since last night cleared momentarily, and Ian allowed himself a small smile at Alex's expression, especially when the nine-year-old looked up and flashed Jack a toothy grin. Somehow Ian knew that the battle was won.

"There's no way I'm winning this is there" Jack muttered, confirming his thoughts.

Ian turned back to Alex amusedly, who looked just about enthusiastic enough to rush out of the house at the merest sign. Indeed the nine-year-old-old looked over to Ian expectantly, but Ian pushed over the plate of toast towards the boy.

"Eat your breakfast" he told Alex. "We'll leave as soon as you're done."

At this, Alex sent him a thoughtful look. For a moment it looked as if he was going to say something, but then Alex shrugged back into his seat and complied wordlessly. Ian turned his gaze back to the newspaper, his heart feeling just a little lighter than before.

…

* * *

...*** _ **...**_

Alex stared in open wonderment at the wide array of daggers and knives laid before him.

"Are all of these actually _real?"_

Ninja stars, drop-point spikes, leaf blades and numerous others littered the table in a formidable display. Some were almost as long as Alex's arm, and there were neat blades merely the width from the tip of his index finger to this wrist. Ian didn't blame him. There was some kind of fascinating beauty to each of them with the autumn sunlight glittering over their deadly edges. Ian chose to remain silent for the moment, letting Alex study them a little longer, but sensing that Alex was about to reach out his finger to run across one of them, he came to stand right behind his nephew. Alex's twitching finger fell still.

"I take it we're not doing archery then?" Alex said again, not tearing his eyes away from the table.

"I saw no reason to cause Jack even greater distress," Ian said amusedly. "You'll be learning how to throw knives. Personally I find this skill more practical."

There was a slightly suspicious glint to Alex's interest when the boy spoke again. "Practical in which sense?" the boy questioned. Alex's tone was completely neutral, but Ian's gaze on the boy sharpened just a little bit before he replied.

"Defending yourself," Ian said promptly. "In the case of an emergency, a knife would be more accessible than a bow and arrow."

Alex didn't find a fault with that answer. He turned back to the selection of knives, and the old excitement at learning something new – not to mention something he'd often seen and played in video games – resurfaced once more.

"Do I get my pick?" Alex asked Ian. Ian gave him a 'you-already-know-the-answer' look.

"No" the elder of the pair replied firmly. He walked over to the table and picked a short, neat blade from the edge. It was incredibly light as its design promised, and Ian could tell that its balance was equally flawless. He motioned for Alex to come over, before handing it over to the boy.

The blade was few inches longer than Alex's palm and had the width of barely two fingers. Alex studied the simple lightweight hilt that covered its end. It looked just as sleek and ordinary as the rest of the knife.

"It's very light" Alex said as he weighed the knife.

"This is called a drop-point spike," Ian said to him. "You see, the blade is symmetrical to provide the best balance." Ian paused to make sure that Alex was giving his full attention before he continued. "The first thing you'll have to learn is how to grip the knife."

In response Alex simply curled his fingers around the hilt as he would hold a pencil. Ian gave him a look. "It's not a kitchen knife Alex."

"Can't blame me, I've only ever learnt from Jack" Alex responded flippantly. A glint of amusement appeared in Ian's eyes before he turned back to the table and picked a slightly longer knife than Alex's. He then placed the hilt in the dead centre of his palm, and he gestured for Alex to follow him. Alex obeyed without hesitation. "Your index finger should be aligned along the blade, not across" Ian instructed. "Hold it out straight. All the others have to be curled inwards, same goes for your little finger." He held up the blade for Alex to see, and the younger boy quickly followed. "That's it."

"It doesn't feel particularly tight," Alex said doubtfully. He felt as though the blade might slip through his fingers without his noticing.

"You'll need the lightest grip possible when throwing from long distances," Ian explained. "Too much force will compromise your balance, hence your accuracy."

"Something like a bowling pin then?" Alex questioned.

Ian smiled faintly at that. "Almost. But the only force you'll be exerting is by flicking your wrist upwards, starting from a point behind your knee." Ian demonstrated the motion slowly. "And when the knife is finally released from your hand, your index finger should point skywards."

Alex nodded to show that he understood, but then he looked at Ian with a familiar expectant expression. "First of all there should be a demonstration right?" he said hopefully.

Ian pretended to frown and tap his cast. "This is going to compromise my balance, so I may be a little off-course" he warned, but Alex's face had already split into a grin, previous resentment vanishing spontaneously. Ian paused and raised an eyebrow at his nephew's expression.

"You look as if I've just announced that we're going to the circus" Ian remarked.

"I hope you don't end up performing as the clown" Alex sniped back.

Ian ignored the jibe. "Pay attention to the hand movement" he told Alex. He went round to the back where was a red line drawn across the floor. All the time he held himself as stiffly as possible, trying not to jostle his other wounds. He was well aware that Alex was watching him closely for other signs of injuries, and briefly he wondered when the boy had become so inquisitive especially of his supposed profession and 'trips'. Of course, such curiousities were an inborn trait of the Riders, but Alex's behavior was becoming a source of concern. It made him wonder what exactly had happened when he'd been away.

Ian was obviously leaning on his good leg when he finally stood in posture. He chose his uninjured leg as his hind leg for better balance; he was confident with his accuracy, hence he could compromise the little distance gained if he chose to lean forwards. The knife was held in position exactly as he'd had instructed Alex, also in his right hand. Ian demonstrated the motion several times slowly as he took aim, and in his peripheral vision he saw Alex pay his movements rapt attention. They both knew that Ian tended to be less forgiving when Alex's attention wandered during his 'lessons'.

Ian stood stock still for a moment, the arm holding the knife still held poised with the blade behind his knee. He sucked in a shallow breath and began a steady mental count. It often helped to sharpen his focus. Three, and two and one. Then his wrist flicked upwards in a fluid motion, and the blade left his palm completely as it hurtled through air.

A silent 'thud' sounded in the courtyard as the knife found its mark.

Alex blinked. He'd only caught a glimpse of sunlight filtering off the blade before he'd heard it strike wood. The knife was now impaled merely half a palm's width from the centre region, its hilt still quivering slightly.

"Well, that was - fast" Alex commented, trying not to sound as awestruck as he felt. It might be a trait he'd gotten from Ian, but even if he thought it was amazing he never said it aloud.

"Thank you" Ian returned just as dryly.

There was a knowing look in his eyes though, and if Alex's expression was anything to go by Ian was certain that the boy didn't miss it.

…

They practiced all through afternoon until late evening. Lunch was a simple affair of Subway sandwiches, in which they ate in silence before continuing their lessons shortly after. Alex worked until his throwing arm was sore and tired, and he could feel blisters beginning to form on his fingers but he didn't voice any complaints. If Ian said they were doing it again, then that was what he did. It had always been how they worked. Alex didn't mind though, he only ever felt as if he knew Ian during their 'lessons', when they were focusing on the same thing together. During these times there weren't the occasional awkward silences born of Ian's long absences, no annoyance rising at each other, just a simple routine he could fall back to easily.

There never was a word needed between them, and to Alex it was comforting to say the least.

Towards the end Alex's knife had finally been able to hit – and stick – to the board, though he was nowhere close to the centre. Ian had then decided that was as good as Alex was going to get in the span of a single day, and they finally called for rest. Alex had clapped cheerfully like a spectator from the stands when Ian finally caved and demonstrated three consecutive throws using different blades – amongst them a 'Bat Wing' and a Tanto spike.

"You're pulling them out" Ian said after the pseudo-performance was over, and he dropped down to the grass, holding his injured leg out in an awkward angle. Alex laughed at Ian's hardly disguised fatigue and left to do so. Upon returning Alex dropped all four blades on the ground between them and flopped down beside Ian with a sigh. Ian watched in amusement as Alex's eyelids immediately began to flutter close.

"I'm not carrying you back if you fall asleep here" Ian said in warning.

Alex didn't bother to turn around. "It's fine, I don't fancy getting thrown off when you fall over." Ian could hear the grin in Alex's voice though.

There was a short moment in which they simply lay there in comfortable silence, watching the sky rapidly darken over their heads. Already the first stars were beginning to pop out in the horizon. They were both worn out and needed dinner and Alex had to prepare for school the next day, but neither felt like leaving just yet. In the single moment staring up at the sky dotted with little sparks that seemed to extend forever, things such as work or obligations seemed comparably little.

"Are you thirsty?" presently it was Ian who broke the spell, nudging Alex who had fallen so still for a moment Ian wondered if the boy _had_ fallen asleep despite his warnings.

"I'm dying for a coke" Alex's tired voice came.

Ian reached into his pocket and tossed Alex a shilling. "You can get one if you walk back a mile."

He was rewarded with a muffled groan as Alex promptly threw it back at Ian. "Then I'd rather die." Alex flipped to the side and sat upright to make a face at Ian. "To think I thought you were being nice today."

Ian raised an eyebrow at that statement. Alex seemed to just realize what he'd just said, and he scowled at Ian's obvious display of smugness.

"Not mad at me anymore then?" Ian asked offhandedly, tilting his head to study the boy.

Alex chewed his lip in silence, contemplating, before he settled on rolling his eyes and flopped back onto the grass.

"Only because you let me skip History."

 **A/N: I gleaned all information for knife-throwing from the internet, sources including wiki, throwzini and Youtube (The Combat Knife Thrower's channel). He is amazing. I humbly apologize if I've gotten any of the facts right, I'm no expert in knife-throwing at all. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, leave a review on the way out will you? =)**

 **Till next time!  
Epsilon Scorpii**


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: Nope, still nothing.

Thanks a million to my wonderful reviewers, and 'alert-ers' and 'favorite-rs'…? I reread your reviews many times. Thank you for your encouragement and support! Here's chapter three for you!

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

It had been a week since Alex had locked shut the desk drawer containing Zhao's picture. He hadn't been able to conduct further research on the topic mainly because Ian was constantly around, and it was difficult enough masking his emotions around his uncle let alone carry out secret investigations. Whether Ian knew what he was doing behind his back, or that he was simply trying to make up for lost time however: Alex found himself busy practicing knife-throwing every day after school, at the backyard of the old Sports and Gym Facilities building.

On the contrary, his opportunity soon presented itself by the second week of Ian's return. It started at breakfast the same way it ever did: with the silent buzzing of Ian's phone on the dining table. Alex's eyes darted over to the vibrating screen before letting his gaze slide away just as quickly without getting caught.

The number was, unsurprisingly, withheld.

Ian made no sound, but for some reason Alex thought he could feel a slight dip in his uncle's posture. A mute sigh hung heavily in the air before Ian finally reached over and connected the call.

"Rider speaking" he said in a monotonous voice. Alex looked away and prodded at his toast in an attempt to look as if he weren't paying attention to what Ian was saying. However the abrupt change in Ian's expression was hardly missed by anyone at the table including Jack. In the next moment Ian's posture had changed, his shoulders were tensed and his eyes were bright and alert, assessing and dangerous. When he saw four pairs of eyes staring fixedly at him, Ian hurriedly excused himself to the hall, but the breakfast atmosphere had completely changed.

Jack as usual tried to pretend nothing had happened and made to spoon more potato salad for him, but Alex made a split second decision and pushed away his plate.

"Bathroom" he muttered and left the table quickly.

He followed Ian down to the hall, all the while straining his ears for snippets of conversation. Ian seemed to be having an argument with the speaker; the tightness and anger in his voice could hardly be mistaken despite the deliberately lowered volume.

"…and now you're pulling me back in?!" Ian demanded furiously.

There was a pause in which the caller said something, but then Ian cut across him angrily. "Don't insult my intelligence by lecturing the ways of their actions to me! _I_ had direct dealings with them; not those incompetents, and neither do you!"

The voice buzzed angrily over the speaker, but Alex could not make out any words. The silence that descended over the hallway while Ian wasn't speaking was unnerving and brittle. For all Alex knew Ian could have been a statue standing frozen beside the kitchen door, his eyes hard and unseeing as they attempted to bore holes into the wall opposite.

From the dining hall, Alex could hear Jack muttering unhappily under her breath as she helped herself to more toast. He almost wished that he was sitting there with her sharing her cloak of pretense – or perhaps blissful ignorance. Alex wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Once upon a time he would have assumed the call was pure business talk, but now he highly doubted it. It gave him an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

After what felt like an eternity, Ian finally spoke again, and this time his voice was much calmer than before despite the lurking danger in his tone. "And what can you do to guarantee _theirs?_ " he said softly.

There was another pause of silence, before Ian was seemingly placated if not satisfied. He disconnected the call and turned back to the hallway.

Unseen by him, Alex snaked past his turned back and slipped into the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him. There the nine-year-old crouched back against the door, waiting for the footsteps to pass by before he finally dared to venture out into the dining room again.

X

Ian left again the very next day. He didn't mention where he was going, and Alex thought he knew better than to ask. All he would get in return would just be another lie anyway.

It was a Friday afternoon in which the heavy rain had thinned into a lazy drizzle. Football practice had been cancelled because of the weather, in which Alex, for once, wasn't unhappy to hear, mainly because it would give him the chance to continue his investigation.

But all too soon he realized there was nothing much he could build up upon. Providing Ian hadn't changed his laptop password, Alex could try screening through his files again, but Alex doubted there would be anything much left in storage. The file on Zhao had probably been deleted, and Ian hadn't been on any more trips so there wouldn't be any new files available for viewing.

There was still the article on Zhao he'd found though it proved not to be very informative. It hardly contained anything about the man save the time and cause of death – killed in a pub brawl. But if anything Ian's file had told him was true, there was definitely something more to the story and Alex's guardian seemed to be in the centre of it somehow.

Frustrated at his lack of clues, Alex unlocked his drawer and drew out the article again. He stared at it hard. Under the sunlight filtering through the window, the picture of Zhao looked different from the one stored on Ian's computer even though the angle and clothes were the same. Alex frowned and pondered over it but for the life of him he couldn't quite recall what was it about the man that looked different.

In the end Alex decided to infiltrate Ian's office once more to compare Zhao's file and the newspaper article. Perhaps this time round he would be able to pick up clues he hadn't be able to before. He could only hope Ian hadn't deleted the report and everything went as smoothly as it did the first time he'd broken into his uncle's office.

As a matter of fact, by a streak of luck, it did. At least, it could have gone much worse.

Some ten minutes later, Alex was sitting before Ian's laptop nursing a bruise which was blossoming over his wrist almost to his elbow. The nearest tree branch reaching out to the box-window had, after all, been snapped during his last endeavor, and Alex had been forced to climb up another branch which veered a little off-course. Alex had narrowly avoided crashing full-force into the window which not only would have caused him a painful concussion but also set off all the alarms blaring throughout the house. His arm had absorbed most of the impact though, hence the tender flesh and his quickly purpling skin.

He had much more pressing matters on mind than his vivid throbbing bruise though; he could only hope the rain would mask any noises he might have made, and the emotional moments in the romantic soap opera Jack was watching hadn't ended yet. His only mistake was to make his move on a rainy day; by infiltrating the office through the window again, the prints he left were less easy to hide. He had to take extra precautions so as not to wet or smudge anything in the office, most importantly the polished table and gleaming laptop.

Opting to worry about those things later, Alex quickly searched for Zhao's file on Ian's laptop. To his surprise it had already been restored from the recycle bin and was currently hidden in one of the numerous folders. It would have taken him ages to check through all of them, but fortunately Alex had the file name memorized and found it quickly without fuss. It hadn't been locked despite its restored state, indicating it was available for viewing, but Alex's fingers hovered over the 'ENTER' key. If Ian bothered to look up the 'recently viewed' date and time, Alex would be found out immediately.

In the end Alex only dithered a moment before pressing the key all the same. Not for the first time he wished that he'd taken the liberty to snap a picture of the document's contents when he'd first accessed it, but it was difficult enough swinging onto the window ledge without making sure his camera didn't fall out of his pocket or get damaged in the process. There was also the odd slim chance that Ian might see it. No, it was safer to store everything in his mind and rely on nothing else. It was Ian's principle as well.

Zhao's picture appeared at the top of the report, his blank stare at the camera looking just the same as it did on the newspaper. Alex held up the second picture from the article cut-out beside the screen to compare them. This time Alex instantly noted that the lighting of both pictures were remarkably different. Somehow the man in the newspaper article was much fairer than the one on screen. Upon closer inspection, Alex noticed with a jolt that the scar running down the man's neck had been edited out so that it looked fainter still against the paler skin, and could easily be overlooked under the thin outline of the man's jaw.

But why blur out the scar? What about it was so incriminating that the editors didn't want the public to see or recognize?

The answer came to him quickly. If the scar wasn't actually a scar, but something that carried the weight of a symbol: a tattoo.

Alex zoomed Zhao's picture on screen as much as he could. He could make out a faint red curved line now, running to the back of Zhao's neck where he couldn't see. It looked like a sort of semicircle on the side of his neck.

Then Alex's eyes caught the file name, and suddenly with a jerk in a flash of understanding Alex connected the dot.

RC 09. BJG. 09 was the month, BJG was Beijing. RC stood for Red Circle, most probably the name of a gang.

Ian hadn't fallen down a flight of steps of course. The word 'accident' only ever appeared in Ian's book when it was a blatant lie. But it would have taken more than a single man to hurt Ian severely; more than being a karate 'dan', a master in both judo and nerve jabs and being physically fit, Alex knew that Ian was always on his guard whenever he was outside. There wasn't a moment in which his guardian _wasn't_ assessing or calculating, and there was no way one man could have fought and given Ian so many bruises, cuts and a broken leg. Least of all the thin stick-like man with hollowed cheekbones staring back at him. Which drew one conclusion: Ian had taken on the gang himself, or at very bad odds it seemed.

With this newfound discovery it brought an odd thrill running through his veins followed by a cold, prickling shiver. Mutely Alex logged out and snapped shut the silver lid before heading back out through the window, all the while being cautious not to leave any traitorous clues behind. He locked shut the window, cleaned the ledge of fingerprints and slid down the ledge on autopilot. All the while his mind was buzzing and numb, and Zhao's picture seemed to stare at him both from Ian's report and the article.

The file in the recycle bin had been restored, and Ian had been summoned back to work today. It could only mean one thing: and for the first time, Alex felt a trill of uncertainty and fear when Ian didn't return home for the entire day.

* * *

The following day dawned bright and clear, with a rare occasion of a cloudless sky stretching for miles across horizon. Despite Alex's protests that he wanted to train 'archery' by himself at the old sports facility after breakfast, Jack had other ideas to spend their weekend together.

"For goodness' sake Alex it's a Saturday afternoon!" Jack exclaimed. "I'll bet it's all Ian's doing again? Honestly, what kind of nine-year-old practices _archery,_ _alone_ on a _weekend_?" She stressed the three words in a scandalized tone.

Normally Alex would have cracked a grin at that, but this time Jack's comment made him pause to reflect the truth of what she said. No one else he knew at school did knife-throwing, neither did they learn four other languages, driving or did as many extreme sports as he did. But it was normal, right? They were just fun hobbies, that was all.

Why then, was Ian so adamant that he learn all those things? Ian hated it when people idled, so it was a reasonable explanation that he wanted Alex to fill his time with meaningful, healthy activities. But over the past week Alex had since learnt better than to trust everything Ian said, and Zhao had left a lot on Alex's mind, especially after his stunt yesterday.

Had Ian been telling the truth then? Did he want Alex to learn to defend himself better just in case Alex was targeted, because of Ian's dangerous line of work? Was that what it was all about?

Jack seized the chance to haul Alex over to follow her plans for Saturday afternoon when he remained quiet a fraction too long. "Come ooooon," she said in a wheedling sort of voice as she forcefully clamped a hand over Alex's shoulder and pushed him out of the door. "We're going to watch a movie, with chocolate ice-cream and popcorn and greasy burgers and fries while Mr. Nothing-Less-Than-Healthy isn't here. How does that sound?"

Alex had to grin at that, especially at Jack's enthusiasm. "And wedges and coke," he added, finally giving in.

"With two jumbo wedges and extra large coke!" Jack declared in amendment. "Deal!"

...

And that was how, some four hours later, Alex found himself dragged down the streets while Jack 'ooh-ed' and 'aah-ed' at every single object available on display in every single shop.

After the movie – which turned out to be a morally infused film with romantic and family themes (in which scenes Alex had to fight a yawn while Jack battled tears), Jack had insisted on going 'browsing', but Alex had quickly tired of said activity. He had to admit the double-edged retractable sword at the toy shop looked cool, and so did the sleek water dart gun, but when they reached the florist's Alex was bored out of his mind.

"Ooooh look Alex, aren't the Holland roses pretty? They don't even have thorns anymore! Genetically manufactured, the florist says! And look – the sunflowers are so lively. Do you think we can have sunflowers in the garden?" Jack had kept on rambling excitedly, while Alex groaned in extreme Ian fashion.

"They're _plants,_ Jack" he said in a flat 'bore-me-to-death-why-don't-you' tone, in which Jack paused and gave him an irritated sniff.

They moved on quickly after that – but not after Jack had bought a small bunch of lilac flowers Alex couldn't be bothered to identify. "For the dining room" she had said, but Alex knew Ian held distaste for flowers especially if they were placed inside the house, and more often than not the flowers ended up sitting a vase by Jack's table.

Now, however, Jack was currently plastered to the glass of what she declared to be a shop no female on earth could possibly pass by without entering. Alex had a vague feeling of dread the moment he read the sign hanging overhead. Lovely Lace. Oh joy.

"Can I a least get myself another ice-cream while you're in there?" Alex asked in a desperate sort of voice. Jack didn't look like she was ready to leave anytime soon.

It didn't take long for Jack to give in, albeit with many misgivings. "Alright, but you're going there and coming straight back here you understand?" she said with the accompanied strictness and anxiety a maternal parent usually had. "No talking to strangers, no dawdling, no wandering off on your own. You won't get lost will you? Perhaps I should come with you."

"I'll be _fine_ Jack" Alex said exasperatedly. One thing he liked about Ian was that he always treated Alex as an adult. At least, more grown-up than Jack ever saw him as. Alex was never too young to buy his own food or bus fares; in fact he'd let Alex wander off by himself at a market in Italy. If Alex got lost, it was his own fault; if he couldn't order himself because his Italian wasn't up to par, it was Alex's own fault. He'd been trained to be independent ever since he was young, but despite all the time he'd spent with Jack that was one of the ideas that never got into her head.

"Straight there and back. Got it!" Alex waved cheerily and hurriedly stepped out of the shop which was redolent with sweet fragrances so overpowering they saturated the air. At least Jack couldn't change her mind now.

Alex walked out alone into the open and stopped. There, out of the corner of his eye, a man wearing a white polo shirt standing beside the pillar turned and coughed discreetly into his hand.

Truth to be told, there was another reason to Alex's venture to get himself another treat. For the past few hours ever since they'd left home, Alex had a distinct impression that they were being followed. He'd turned around to check more than once, but his feeling remained exactly what it was, and his suspicions were unfounded. Then they'd watched a movie in the cinema and Alex allowed himself to relax, even though he kept an eye on the emergency exits the whole time – another ingrained trait by Ian Rider.

But after that Alex began to realize something was off. More often than not there was always _someone_ behind them, be it a woman, a man or a couple, and despite knowing it was irrational Alex couldn't shake of the feeling of being watched. It was an inborn instinct, but without years of experience or guidance to hone it, Alex was confused between identifying his maybe-stalker and innocent citizens.

That man by the pillar though, Alex thought he could recognize him. He had discreetly taken a picture of the man's reflection in the shop window using his phone when Jack was busy browsing through cute cardigans. At the time he'd been wearing baggy pants and a plain brown t-shirt, but now the man seemed taller somehow, and his clothes were different. Alex pretended to trip and shot a discreet glance at the man's shoes – they were covered, no longer the sandals from before. There probably were shoe-lifts in the insoles to alter the man's height.

By now Alex had little doubt in mind that it was the same man. For one, said man stuck to the same inconspicuous cover-ups whenever Alex found an excuse to look his way – he was either blowing his nose, coughing, or pretending to talk on the phone while he stopped in his tracks.

 _Physical appearances can be altered too easily. A_ nother gem of Ian's wisdom. _Look for the mannerisms. Habits die hard._

The man used his right hand to cover a sneeze or cough. The man turned to his right to face the back when Alex looked over. Another note: copper or blonde hair, the man liked to rest a hand on his head as he talked on the phone. As if he wanted to run his fingers through his hair but was afraid of distorting the wig.

Alex whistled to himself in an appearance of nonchalance as he walked past the man and headed straight for the litter of sweet shops ahead. There was a dressed-up cartoon cow welcoming guests into the frozen yoghurt shop a few paces from where he stood. The cow bent over to greet a long line of kids, giving them each a high-five. An idea sparked to Alex and he took to it at once. He put on an expression of awe and interest and reached for his phone in pretense of videoing the cartoon character as he walked past. Then Alex turned around as he began to walk backwards, the picture of a delighted boy catching the friendly cow on screen while he slyly focused the lens on the man, who was still coughing into his right hand. He snapped three more pictures before turning around.

When that was done, Alex quickly headed straight for the ice-cream shop just as he'd told Jack. But instead of heading back after his order Alex sat there and fiddled with his phone. He didn't dare look up again lest the man guessed Alex knew he was being followed - after all knowledge was power. Instead Alex took to viewing the pictures he took of the man on his phone. Even without need of further scrutinizing Alex he was positive that his intuitions were right.

But then, now what? For a moment Alex paused, pondering his next course of action, but no conclusion came to mind. He thought he should tell Jack, or the security, but something wasn't quite right about the situation. Unless they were planning to kidnap Alex in broad daylight, there was no reason for the man to be tailing him; Jack had cash while Alex clearly didn't have much money on him. What was the motive?

A greater part of him wanted to tell Ian, even though Alex had no idea where his guardian was. Because even if that was the last intention Ian ever had in mind, to Alex, if he couldn't depend on himself to devise a plan now, the only other person that would always know what to do in any situation would be his guardian.

Alex hesitated for a while, but when the man standing far behind circled round the pillar to see him the moment he got up, Alex made his decision. If Ian didn't reply soon, then he would devise his own route.

Discreetly Alex sent his GPS location as well as the pictures of the man he'd taken over to Ian's number. There were only two words in the message box.

BEING FOLLOWED.

 **A/N: Yay another chapter! Thanks for bearing with me so long. I'm getting better from my flu, but as it is my head's still a little woozy so forgive me if there are some errors in the flow. It certainly is getting fun writing a nine-year-old spy-ish Alex though! Hope you enjoyed it! Loved it hated it? Review! :p**


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks a million for your inspiring reviews. Most of you mentioned that you "couldn't wait" so I tried to be as fast as possible. =p Hope you like this!

DISCLAIMER: Well… Horrowitz's name is already published over the ten books in the AR series… I would say it would be a little too late to try stake a claim now, would it?

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Mrs. Jones frowned as she studied the message she had just received.

The sender was none other than one of their top agents who was still currently in field, and one of the most experienced at that: Ian Rider himself. On other occasions she would say that the man had little sense of humor; indeed she had never seen anything less than a completely blank expression whenever he entered their office. But now a wry smile touched her lips as she scrolled down his message, even though she very probably shouldn't.

It was a message forwarded from Ian's phone: but it was clear that the original sender was one Alex Rider, John Rider's son. There were two varying pictures of the same MI6 official and the message below read the nine-year-old's astoundingly acute discovery: BEING FOLLOWED. Then right at the bottom, Ian had added a message of his own: _Amateurs._

There was no denying the fact that Alex Rider was startlingly observant for someone his age. Admittedly they had not sent in their best officials: those tailing Starbright and Alex were the newest in their job. After all they were only in charge of the safety of an oblivious American redhead and a little boy not even in his teens. What were the chances of them being found out, especially with the frequent role swaps and disguises?

Well, now they had an answer.

Mrs. Jones sent the message over to Alan Blunt's office, and minutes later she was once more summoned to the grey and white room. Unsurprisingly, the head of MI6 officials saw nothing amusing about the situation. He only saw opportunities, and his attention was clearly snatched by one Alex Rider, the son of the best agent he'd ever had in his office. Even before he spoke, Mrs. Jones could tell that Blunt was already calculating numerous routes in his mind.

"He's a remarkably interesting boy" Blunt said at last, averting his eyes from the pictures. "It makes me wonder how Rider has raised him. The boy is clearly beginning to follow John's footsteps."

Mrs. Jones remained silent, but there was something about his tone that made her feel uneasy. "What about the MI6 agents?" she asked, diverting the topic. "Do we pull them out?"

"You heard Rider, Alex and Starbright's security cannot be compromised. Frankly I won't be surprised if Rider's suspicions come true." Blunt inspected his fingernail with a disinterested air. "I have no doubt in mind that Rider will turn in his work if they did."

Mrs. Jones waited silently by Blunt's table. The head of MI6 headquarters pondered over the events in uninterrupted silence for a few minutes. The only sounds in the room were the silent ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the faint whirring of the air-conditioning. Then finally Blunt came to his decision.

"Pull the agents out of direct field," he said at length, "but double the security in the area. If anything happens, the boy is the priority."

"Of course," Mrs. Jones said, nodding her head slightly in acknowledgement. But when she turned to leave, Blunt stopped her in her tracks by the doorway.

"Oh and when Rider returns, arrange something for the both of them," he said. "I would very much like to meet the boy Alex."

* * *

Alex prowled the length of his room, tapping the phone in against his palm before checking the notifications once in every few strides. After a few more repetitions of this routine, he finally gave up and flung the device carelessly onto the, flopped down by the window and stared hard through the speckles of rain that began to dot the glass.

He'd waited for a few minutes after sending the text message to Ian, but when he received no reply Alex's first course of action was to locate Jack and tell her about his suspicions. It wasn't something he was looking forwards to for he knew it would serve to alarm Jack and ruin her rare 'shopping days' but it couldn't be helped. It would be better for her to be on her guard as well just in case they were caught unaware. The other option was to alert security, but Alex felt apprehensive in doing so himself. After all he knew just how much adults trusted the word of a nine-year-old, and he most probably wouldn't be taken seriously.

So Alex had walked back to 'Lovely Lace' by himself, finishing his ice-cream quickly on the way. It was cold and tasteless against his tongue; the only thing he sensed was the faint adrenaline buzzing in his veins as he studied his surroundings with keen aloofness. When he reached Lovely Lace once more, he'd lost sight of the man that had been tailing him, which made him feel if anything less at ease.

In the end, they managed to get home quickly enough with minimal fuss on Jack's part. While she maintained her steadfast disbelief that anyone would want to tail them both, and was doubtful even when Alex had flashed her the pictures of the man he'd taken, Alex's dead serious demeanor had propelled her to, if not take Alex's word for the truth, at least co-operate with his intentions. The pair had been extremely edgy all the way home, and they took wide open roads with a large number of pedestrians to diminish their chances of being ambushed.

All of that had been almost an hour ago. Alex had retired to his bedroom, Jack had set up the flowers in a vase, the clock continued ticking away until the cuckoo emerged from its wooden door and began its shrill call. Still nothing happened, no one came in to break down the door, there was no sign of any stalkers, and no message from Ian Rider.

 _Of course there's no reply,_ Alex thought to himself. _Ian might not even be in London. He could well be on the way to the North Pole and my message hasn't even been sent._

There was an indecipherable feeling in his chest, as if you were waving to a friend desperately but in the end he failed to see you and walked away. Alex shrugged to get more feeling into his shoulders. A slight chill was creeping through the window panes into his bones from the close proximity he sat.

Ian was once again right, he realized. He couldn't afford to be dependent, not on Jack, not even Ian. Just himself. If those men had meant him harm, what then? Ian was hardly around as he was, he couldn't possibly wait around for his guardian all the time to present him a solution. He had to work things out on his own the way Ian himself always did.

Alex squared his shoulders and moved back to his desk, a new resolve burning in his heart.

Next time, no matter what the situation was, he would take things into his own hands.

X

It wasn't until almost a week later when Ian finally came home.

The night skies were overcast with dark purple clouds and it thundered and poured a heavy deluge outside the front porch. Alex was glad for the chilly weather during the past few days: it gave him a valid reason to keep his arm wrapped under a jacket, which meant his bruise could thankfully go unnoticed. On the downside there were no more football practices, so he couldn't say he got hurt from trying to block the ball from hitting him full in the face. He wasn't sure if Ian would believe him if he said he got shoved and fell on a normal school day – his martial arts training from a young age had rather lessened the possibility of such occasions, even if the story sounded probable.

Alex had managed to sneak up the first-aid kit to his own room in the vain hopes that his constant applying of bruise balm would make the purple on his skin fade quicker. It turned out to be worse than he'd expected though: only the day before the mild swelling and blood clots were beginning to disperse: and the greenish yellow areas were now an uglier shade of livid maroon. He was glad that it was healing fast, but it also meant that the bruise was now more visible than ever.

Jack and Alex were sharing a huge packet of Marks and Spencer's potato chips after dinner when Alex suddenly perked up.

"Ian's back" he said.

Jack looked at him a bit doubtfully. "How would you know that?"

"I heard his car engine. It's turning into the porch as we speak."

Jack contemplated this for a moment, straining her ears to for tell-tale noises above the pitter-patter of the raindrops cascading down the rooftop. When a car door slammed outside, Jack's eyes widened and she leapt up from the table with a swear. In the next second she grabbed the packet of chips, carelessly brushed down the crumbs into her apron pocket and disappeared into the kitchen. Alex quickly yanked over his homework and grabbed a random pencil in a pretense of writing an essay.

The seconds passed in tense silence save the rainfall and occasional boom of thunder. Alex's knee began to jitter despite himself, and his eyes flashed past the wooden door that remained resolutely close. Something was wrong. Ian was taking much longer than he normally did.

It could be the rain, he thought. Maybe Ian was still struggling with an umbrella.

The key jingled for a moment in the keyhole, and there was a familiar click as the door unlocked. Alex hurriedly ducked his head and began writing a random word on the fresh page. _The… geographical… aspects…_ of what? He had no idea about the geographical aspects of anything. Hoping Ian wouldn't notice his lack of progress in his homework, Alex feigned a stretch and looked up.

His guardian was completely drenched. Ian's hair was damp, so was his face, and the shirt he was wearing was spattered with rain. There was a neutral expression with a suitable measure of mild annoyance on his face as Ian shrugged off the dry-clean-only coat he wore, but otherwise he seemed fine. His footsteps were stiff as he made his way over to the staircase, which was to be expected given his leg injury a week prior – but he paused when he noted the trail of slightly muddy-looking water in his wake. When he saw Alex looking he flashed the nine-year-old a faint smile.

"Stepped in a puddle I'm afraid" Ian said. "The weather outside is frightful."

Alex wavered slightly at the light-hearted tone, but before he could say anything Ian continued up the stairs and disappeared from the landing. A few minutes later Alex heard the door close.

Jack emerged from the kitchen not long after that. She had discarded the apron and the packet of chips were nowhere in sight. When she walked over to the table however she stopped in her tracks, looked down at the once clean polished floor and wrinkled her nose in dismay.

"Whatever did Ian step into?" she said in disgust, peering at the slightly brownish water smeared over the floor up the steps.

Icy fingers pinched his heart, and Alex forced himself to look away. "A puddle" he managed to say, but if Jack had bothered to look into his eyes she could have been able to tell that he didn't believe it.

…

The leg of Ian's pants was too drenched. Ian's upper body would have been soaked through to warrant such wetness that his pants clung to his calf in that manner, unless of course he really sploshed into a terribly magnificent puddle as he claimed. But then try as he might, even if Ian's leg hadn't completely healed – the cast was no longer present – he had been leaning on the wrong leg entirely.

Alex scratched at the paper with his pencil absently, the 'geographical aspects' title left unfinished. He didn't dare to ask. He was afraid that if he did, Ian would hold his secrets even closer around Alex for fear that Alex would dig in deeper. He was afraid that Ian would only tell another lie, each more convincing than the next until Alex was no longer sure what to believe. He was afraid that with revelation a rift would come between them and grow. He was afraid of knowing the truth even if he wanted to.

Alex dawdled at the table by himself for what felt like another hour, but in truth it had only been less than ten minutes. Silence prevailed and reigned across the household unbroken and unchallenged. The whole time he sat there, Alex didn't manage to accomplish anything. His Geography homework was indeed due the next day, but Alex didn't have the heart to finish it. A numbing frigidness had settled over his brain and there seemed to be little space for anything else.

It was half past ten was Alex finally turned out the lights and trudged upstairs heavily. He thought he could hear Jack's faint singing in the bathroom, so he didn't bother to go over and wish her goodnight. It wasn't until he reached the door to his room that he noticed the crack of light under Ian's room, and that there were two shadows blocking some of it from escaping onto the landing.

Ian was standing on the other side of the door, and for some reason he was avoiding an encounter with Alex himself.

"Hypocrite" Alex muttered under his breath. He no longer cared if Ian heard him or not. He walked into his room and shut his door as loudly as he could without it being classified as a slam, then threw himself heavily on his bed. He strained his ears for any noise, but though he saw the light under his door shifting, indicating that Ian's door had opened, he couldn't hear a sound.

There was a silent muffled noise, then the light disappeared. Ian probably didn't want him to see his doubtlessly new collection of injuries as they would be harder to explain. After all, a consecutive fall down a flight of steps sounded suspicious even to his own ears.

As he kicked his school bag to the side and prepared for bed, a sudden thought struck Alex. He fumbled around by his drawer and ripped away the curtains. Yellow streetlight spilled into his room. There at the edge of the drawn windowsill was the first-aid kit Alex had taken to his room to treat his bruise. And now Ian probably needed it a whole lot more than he did.

Quite suddenly the noises outside his room made sense, and something clenched at his heart.

With a single thought in mind Alex quickly snuck out of the room and onto the landing. The light in Ian's room was still on. Uncertainty and fear flickered in the back of his mind as he dithered out in the dim light coming from the room. Then Alex carefully placed the first-aid kit outside Ian's door before creeping back to his own as fast as he could. He stopped short at his own door and snapped it shut as loud as he dared, hoping that his guardian would hear it.

He wasn't disappointed. Not long after the patterns of light beneath his door shifted again and grew bright. After a heartbeat's pause, a door closed, and Alex;s room was once more plunged into complete darkness.

* * *

…

Despite the heavy rain the night before, the morning sun the next day was warm and welcoming.

It was a general consensus that rain brought with it deep sleep, as psychologically speaking the rhythmic fall of raindrops lulls the brain to a sense of peace and comfort. Quite on the contrary, however, Alex's sleep the last night wasn't remotely fitful nor restful.

Alex forced his eyes open the moment he heard the gentle beeping of his alarm clock at 6 A.M. which had been stashed under his pillow. The veins in the back of his neck were a mess of tense knots and his eyes felt as though they were held in place by taut inelastic strings.

He didn't regret leaving the first-aid kit by Ian's door, heaven knows his guardian needed it – but in doing so he'd inevitably exposed himself as such that he knew more than he let on. And wasn't that the same as openly declaring his suspicions to Ian's face? He wasn't sure how Ian would react to it, and it gave him a vaguely hollow feeling when he thought of Ian putting up his guard even around Alex. Had he done right, or had he unintentionally caused more harm in the long run?

Alex took care to shrug on his jacket despite the warm weather – his bruise was still annoyingly visible – before grabbing his bag and turning to leave. There was a mixture of apprehension, exhaustion and irritability churning in his gut. The clock currently read 6.15 a.m. With any chance he would be off to school before Ian woke and he wouldn't need to face his guardian's questions just yet. He didn't know how Ian would react if he knew that Alex had broken into his office and viewed confidential files.

If Alex thought he had been early enough to avoid Ian however, he was proved altogether wrong. When Alex finally descended the stairs, Ian was already sitting at the table, the papers spread before him and a steaming cup of something hot beside a plate of toast. And from the way his eyes flickered slightly away from the paper told Alex that his presence had already been known. Alex barely withheld a sigh of annoyance at the sight, but something made him stop short.

A long red ugly mark ran down the length of Ian's leg, stretching down from where it was hidden beneath his trousers to his ankle. Even from the far distance Alex could see that it had swelled into an ugly wound. Alex knew from sight that such wounds were better left out in the open instead of wrapping it up with bandages to heal properly, but the fact that Ian didn't bother to hide this new injury spoke depths to answer many of the questions that plagued Alex's mind.

Alex only faltered a little in his step before he shrugged off the stuffy jacket and slipped down into the hallway. Even with nothing but the pale light of a single lamp switched on, his bruise stood out starkly red against his skin.

"Morning Ian" he said in a short breath, his tone perfectly bland.

Ian raised his eyes to meet Alex's, but his gaze sharpened as they lingered over the bruise over Alex's arm. Part of Alex's breath caught in his throat even though he remembered to breathe properly, but in the end Ian's gaze slid away from his arm to meet Alex's gaze steadily.

"Morning Alex," he returned with the same amount of neutrality.

And just like that, the tension between Alex's shoulders faded, and so did the one hanging in the atmosphere. Alex walked over and settled into his seat at the other end of the table as he picked off Ian's toast in an almost comfortable silence. Ian said nothing about Alex's bruise and Alex didn't bring up Ian's leg injury; a mutual consensus. It was as if they both knew they would only be saving each other from more lies.

Alex had to fight the faint smile that worked its way to his lips: for all the difficult questions he'd expected, in the end not even a single word had been needed.

 **A/N: Ian not hiding his leg wound is his way of acknowledging that what he said before were only excuses and that he doesn't want to lie to Alex anymore than he should, but obviously he can't come clean about his duties. Alex reiterates this trust by not concealing the bruise he got while infiltrating Ian's office. They're not telling each other the whole truth, but they're tired of lying any more than necessary; after all both know how much the other detests lies.**

 **Anyway hope you liked it! If there's anything you don't understand feel free to PM me. Little Alex's character is coming to me easier than the adult version, I don't know why. I'm still struggling with LOS updates. X) Review please? They make me insanely happy pleased and excited!**


	5. Chapter 5

My special thanks to **SidewaysSkyscrapers, Ikspires, ggg** and all guests for reviewing :p Chapter 5 is dedicated to you. I haven't been writing for months now since uni life began, so here's hoping my writing is still up to par. Hope you enjoy this!

DISCLAIMER: Nope, I own nothing.

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

The following week passed in a surprisingly uneventful manner.

Alex attended all his classes (Ian didn't pull him out of school), _karate_ lessons and approximately four to five hours of football practice every few days. (According to Mr. Hamilton the increased training hours was to 'keep them fit' for the upcoming inter-school finals.) All in all, the only differences between the week and the last was that Alex did his homework in the dining hall instead of in his study room, and more often than not he practiced knife-throwing under Ian's critical eye.

Alex didn't give much thought to Zhao anymore, neither did he open the drawer containing the newspaper clipping. For the moment, things between him and Ian were good, and he didn't want anything to change. Even with his past insatiable curiousity, Alex was for once almost content to leave things the way they were. He was uncertain of what would change if he ever got down to the bottom of the mystery, and for some reason that thought scared him more than the possibilities of truth.

Ian on the other hand never as much as gave Alex a questioning look or even an accusatory glance. The suspicious bruise was never brought up, neither was the topic of Ian's own injuries. It still lurked beneath the surface though, and sometimes Alex could feel the stilted awkwardness when they skirted around these conversations cautiously. On the brighter side, much to Alex's contentment, Ian's leg was beginning to heal quickly and he could demonstrate lightning-fast throws without compromise. As a result they practiced longer and harder especially during weekends, and Subway sandwiches became a routine to the point that the shop assistant could place their order with a simple confirmation of 'the same?'.

Jack of course was not pleased by this turn of events. She'd tried to blackmail Alex into watching a movie with her instead, but she'd been turned down almost immediately – and worse still, in front of Ian who tried to cover up his smugness by flipping a page of the morning paper with an air of innocence. It didn't stop Jack from rounding on Ian and exclaiming, "What have you done!" in a distressed tone, but it only made Alex laugh.

To Alex's credit, the nine-year-old's skills had improved dramatically over the course of the last week. His throws were nine out of ten a finger's width shy of the innermost ring, but he needed time to steady his aim, something which Ian frowned upon.

"You have to find your mark within three counts Alex" Ian told his nephew seriously one afternoon after Alex had pulled off a consecutive throw. "You cannot delay any longer after that."

Alex looked at the target board. The hilt of the blade was still quivering from the force; and for the first time, it had managed to strike within the innermost circle of the target. A slight grin played at his lips as he noted the two blades which were positioned mere inches apart, but then Alex tore his gaze away to look at Ian. The slight flutter of achievement quickly withered at his guardian's grim demeanor.

"Isn't aim the _point_ of knife-throwing?" He returned, hoping his nonchalance would keep the slight disappointment from seeping into his tone.

Ian shot him a look before he replied, "It is. But humans are born with instincts, Alex; and while it takes some a longer reaction time for them to be aware of the signals their sub-conscious is picking up, some are trained. Their instincts are honed, and not only do they know when they are the target, they could trace back the path and find the hunter's location as well." Ian finished.

The abrupt solemnity unsettled Alex, and all of a sudden the newspaper article was staring back at him, and Ian's words had a heavy weight to them. Alex looked away before his expression could betray him, but for the briefest of moments his eyes were drawn to the ugly scar running down Ian's leg and the story behind it.

"It's just practice," Alex muttered in response, and he quickly left to pull the knife out of the target. But when he returned with the blade in his hand, ready for another attempt, uncharacteristically, Ian did not let the matter drop.

"You do not have time to count to ten," he repeated one more time.

There was a hint of steel in his voice that compelled Alex to look up, where he caught Alex's eyes with his own. Alex swallowed.

"I know."

xXx

Alex may have stopped prying the mystery of Zhao's death, but he never once stopped observing.

Whenever Ian came back from work, he always looked worn out and drained. In the rare moments that he _wasn't_ on duty however, Ian became tense and quiet when nothing provided him a distraction, and his eyes kept flicking back to his phone screen as if he was ready to be summoned at the shortest notice. Alex was by now used to pretending; and it was just as well because Ian never let down the game either. The nine-year-old didn't so much as blink when Ian's phone rang, and the scratch of his pencil on the paper never slowed when Ian left the hallway to receive the call. He didn't try to listen in, and he didn't try to speculate anything more. It was, as he constantly reminded himself, strictly nothing to do with him.

But on a cold drizzly day in which no one saw it coming, it wasn't to be the case.

It was Friday late afternoon – thirty minutes past four to be exact – where Jack and the two Riders were having a rare, peaceful tea together (Jack had decided to make pancakes). And then the vibrations began. Immediately all pairs of eyes snapped over to the mobile phone screen which had lit up, indicating a call from – surprise, surpise – a withheld number.

For a moment a pause hung over the room, as if everyone knew what was coming but remained reluctant to face it, but then Alex reached for his last pancake and continued chewing. His eyes were cast fixedly on his own plate. Ian left the table with a muttered excuse. Jack said nothing.

It might have been his imagination, but Alex could hear Ian's voice down the hallway, which meant he was speaking louder than the usual clipped murmur he always adopted. Alex caught a few words, but instead of straining to listen in like he would have done before, Alex stuffed the rest of the pancake into his mouth and got up abruptly.

"Where are you going?" Jack asked in surprise.

"Archery practice," Alex replied round a mouthful of food. He gulped down the last of milk and swallowed with some difficulty. "Tell Ian bye from me," he added in an offhanded manner, "you know, just in case he goes off for one of his trips ag – "

"You're not going to train today."

Alex spun round, completely taken aback. Ian had reappeared at the hallway, and he was wearing an expression of barely concealed annoyance as he twirled his phone within his fingers. It was as if he would have liked to drop it there and then.

Alex cleared his throat when no explanation whatsoever seemed to be forthcoming.

"So. Wow. Are we learning parkour or something instead?" Alex said.

Ian gave a faint snort. "I'm sure you'd know the chances of that happening anytime soon. We're not learning anything today. Instead, my _employers_ would very much like to meet you."

Alex nearly did a double take. " _Your_ employers," he repeated, uncertainly. Immediately a thousand possibilities flitted through his mind, and his brain buzzed at hundreds of miles per hour. Who were Ian's employers then? Legit bankers? Financial managers? Or were they figures that would shed some light on Zhao's 'coincidental' death?

"My employers," Ian agreed. There was a darker edge to his tone that went unheard by anyone who wasn't looking for it. "My department is having a colleague get-together session. Everyone's bringing their families along. They're calling it a social event."

A social event. A social dinner gathering on a Friday night. Alex supposed it was perfectly reasonable; but the fact that they had called him over made Alex wary of their intentions. And more than that, he could tell that Ian himself wasn't keen on the idea.

"Must I go?" Alex said, sounding reasonably reluctant.

Jack's eyes darted between Ian and Alex. Ian, in response to the question, raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Alex only watched mutely. It was the first time he'd seen his guardian being indecisive over something.

"If you don't want to – " Ian began haltingly, " – you can stay back home. But you're not doing any archery."

Alex noted the slight flicker of emotions across Ian's face. There might have been many, but Alex only managed to place two: tiredness and uncertainty.

It was clear that his guardian was as wary as he was; perhaps because he had a better idea of what his employers' intentions were. Ian wasn't someone you could force into doing something he had no intention of doing – and for him to have considered bringing Alex at all despite his distaste of the situation spoke volumes of the leverage his employers held over him.

All of a sudden, Alex made his decision. He had been torn between giving up his investigations – at least for the time being, but as it was an opportunity had practically come knocking on his door. He wasn't going to turn his back and miss out on a chance like that.

"So. What time is this gathering?" Alex asked.

* * *

…

"The social dinner is at the _company_?" Alex said in disbelief.

Ian had just parked the car directly in front of the grey and white building which sign read ' _Royal and General Bank'._ Alex turned to face his guardian, whose mouth was pinched into a thin line. It had been the same way throughout their journey in the car.

"There is always more than one intention behind social dinners Alex," Ian said in a flat tone, " - and trust me when I say that dinner is never one of the top priorities."

Alex nodded. "Sounds fun," he commented drily. That earned a slight quirk of a smile from Ian, but it slipped off his face quickly.

"They will be directing questions at you," Ian continued. "Think carefully before you answer. Be careful not to say anything that may potentially come back to bite you."

It was beginning to sound less and less like a social dinner. Of course, Alex had expected as much, but having Ian talking in a dead serious tone as if they were about to attend someone's funeral made the whole situation tenser and more challenging than what he initially anticipated.

"In any case, I'll be around," Ian at last. "If you're uncomfortable about anything, just remain silent. I'll come and get you as soon as we can get away."

The thought that Ian had felt the need to reassure him was not particularly reassuring. Even so Alex jerked his head in nod to show that he understood, and they exited the car without another word. They walked past the steps leading up to the main reception of the bank. Mutely Ian led him to the staff entrance and scanned an ID pass before they were let in through the double doors.

It was the first time Alex had ever set foot in the building despite the fact that Ian had been working there even before Alex was born. Alex caught a glance of a high-ceilinged reception counter and staffs answering phone calls at their respective desks before Ian's hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he was steered towards the lifts. But even with that simple sweeping look around the hall, Alex was beginning to have second doubts about his suspicions. After all the bank didn't look as if it could be anything else other than a bank.

The lifts brought them up to the tenth floor before the doors opened with a silent _ping_ , and Ian led them out. There was very little to see after that: white and grey corridors, plain dark blue carpets and offices on both sides. It was unnervingly silent for a social dinner; Alex got the impression that the whole floor had built-in sound-proof systems or something. Then finally Ian stopped short before a door that looked exactly the same as the rest and said, "In here."

The whole tense atmosphere that had been building up ever since they left home seemed to reach a climax then, and for a moment Alex actually imagined people with guns waiting for them behind the door. But when the door opened, the hubbub of cheery flowing conversation reached his ears immediately, and the smell of food wafted outside. It seemed almost a peculiar scent in the clean, business-like floor of offices.

"Oh, there you are Mr. Rider!"

The moment they appeared on the threshold, an older jovial-looking man rose from his seat immediately and ushered them in. Out of habit Alex gave the room a sweeping scan and found two surveillance cameras planted snugly in opposite corners. It was clearly a discussion room of sorts; a long table had been pushed to the side and there were seven other people seated in a circle around the middle.

The man who'd let them in bent down to look at Alex in the eye. He had to stand a distance away so that his huge protruding stomach wouldn't knock Alex over. "I see you've brought your nephew along!" he continued in a jolly voice. "Excellent, excellent, I've always wanted to meet him. Come boy, have some food if you haven't had any!"

Alex blinked. There was food of every kind of delivery meal you cared to name of scattered around the table: Chinese take-out, Japanese take-out, burgers, pasta and sandwiches. Alex switched his attention to the colleagues Ian spoke of. There were three women, three men, and one girl that looked around the same age as he was. It was clear that not all of them were employees as they wore no uniform. As far as he was concerned, it really did look like a social dinner.

One look at Ian though and Alex could tell his guardian was not placated. Alex trailed behind his guardian quietly and sat down next to Ian on a hard black leather sofa across the jolly, plump-looking man. He seemed to be the only one to be interested in Alex's arrival so far.

"My name is Smithers," the man said after handing Alex some lukewarm coke in a plastic cup. "I'm a colleague of your uncle's. What's the name, lad?"

Alex chanced a glance at Ian but his guardian seemed to be already in conversation with the woman sitting next to him. "Alex" he replied shortly, but a little warily all the same.

If Smithers noticed his discomfort he gave no indication of it. "I have a niece around your age, she attends Brookland as well," Smithers elaborated. "You wouldn't happen to know a Brenda Hopkin?"

Alex felt his interest pique. "As a matter of fact yes," he said.

"Ah so you _do_ know her!" Smithers said with a grin. "Brenda doesn't seem to know anyone else other than her usual social circle, but it seems like you have met. Are you in the same class?"

"Er – I don't exactly know her per se," Alex returned. He only knew that such a person existed, and that she was in the cheerleading team. "I think I'm a year or two below her."

"Right, right!" Smithers said with a laugh. He clasped his hands together and made to say something, but just then the door opened and more people began to flood in. Alex was mildly surprised to note that more than one had brought their families along: very soon the discussion room was packed with people greeting each other, talking and laughing. Alex shuffled up the sofa to move space for the new arrivals to sit, but then Ian got up and gestured to Alex that he was leaving for a while.

"Be right back," he told Alex over the din. He rested his hand on Alex's shoulder for the briefest moments, then he turned and disappeared out of the room with two more colleagues in tow.

Alex was left sitting at the sofa by himself at a complete loss as to what he was supposed to do next. If anything, all he felt was confusion. Why had Ian been so wary? Why give so many warnings if he was going to leave Alex alone right from the start of the 'social gathering'? Ian had even said he'd be around. Where did he go? Who were these people, and what did they really want from him?

Smithers sat down across him again with a huge _thump_ after greeting the newcomers. Alex felt glad that Smithers hadn't felt the need to introduce Alex to anyone. He didn't see the point of introducing himself to a bunch of strangers who had nothing to do with him and would probably forget his name within the first minute of meeting him.

"We have a social gathering between colleagues every year or so," Smithers continued the flow of conversation as if he'd never left. So far he was the only one to engage Alex in any sort of conversation besides the usual polite greeting. "Your uncle rarely attends events like this, I suppose it's not quite to his tastes – him being health-conscious and all… but this year our of Head of Department insisted he did," Smithers added with a chuckle.

Despite himself Alex had to crack a small smile at that – so Ian being health-conscious wasn't only a well-known fact in the Rider household but also in his workplace. "Which department do you work in?" Alex found himself asking.

"Me? I'm in charge of software design and security," Smithers replied with a twinkle in his eye. "A pretty fun job I can tell you! I experiment with different software and weave my tricks into our system. I can honestly tell you there is no security tighter than what we have at Royal and General bank!"

It was evident to Alex that Smithers was indeed very passionate about his job; it was either that or that he was a really good actor. His round face had brightened considerably when he was talking.

"I've been tinkering around with some games software as well, you'll be surprised by how much you can learn from video games!" Smithers said with a grin. "I've just created a software which simulates your thought processes and project them as images in the game itself. I would ask Brenda to try it, but she's not into action games." He paused. "I could let you have a try though, it's in the office. You can kill some time while waiting for Ian to return."

Alex looked around the room. Ian showed no sign of reappearing anytime soon. The prospect of leaving the crowded room and playing a specially designed video game which sounded immensely cool didn't seem like such a bad idea.

"Sure thing," he replied, brightening considerably.

xXx

 **A/N: Sorry for the long delay. It's been the first time I've written anything for months. Hope you enjoyed this, and if you did: drop a review please? :P**

 **If you're lazy to, or you don't know what to say, here's a rating system:**

 **:D for awesome/amazing**

 **O for okay**

 **X for terrible.**

 **P/S: I have the plot and the ending planned out, but as for the pace of my writing I'll just let inspiration lead me where it does. The original plan was around 9-10 chapters for this story though.**

 **Till next time!**


	6. Chapter 6

_Major thanks to those who continued to express interest and love for this mini project of mine. Without further ado, here's the next chapter, which holds the beginnings of the unravelling plot. Hope you enjoy!_

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of Alex Rider, all characters and background story belongs to Horrowitz.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Ian said nothing on the drive back. Alex didn't feel like breaking the silence between them, so he opened the car window and let the gentle whizz of the dry breeze blow in and fill it in his stead.

A red Peugeot in the next lane chose that moment to swerve too close. All the warning Alex got was a mighty roar before he was assaulted by a blast of hot air, and he was forced to hastily wind up the window, blinking dirt from his eyes. Ian cast him a cursory glance before stepping up on the accelerator. The car cruised forwards smoothly, leaving the Peugeot behind it with ease.

The loud hum of the engine gradually lulled, and Alex felt the car slow slightly as they turned into the neighbourhood. It was probably time for an effort at conversation, if social norms were anything to go by, but Ian did like to be an exception. Alex's finger began tapping an imaginary rhythm against the door panel.

"I take it that the dinner was not up to your standards?" Ian said at last, negotiating a bend as he did. Alex snuck a surreptitious glance at Ian.

"Well you certainly did live up to mine," he said neutrally. "Playing me up to the height of paranoia and all."

Ian's eyes flicked once to the mirror, as if checking if Alex was being serious. He wasn't though. He'd only meant it in a light-hearted manner.

Ian shrugged. "At least it kept you on your toes," he replied. "It's dangerous to get too laidback."

Three seconds ticked past. Alex knew this because he had been measuring them by listening to the rhythmic whir of the air conditioner. And then the moment where a reply might have been expected was lost. Alex simply leaned back in his seat non-comitally, offering no rejoinder.

The streets outside passed in streaks of purple-grey, and very soon the car was rolling into the familiar garage of the house. Ian pulled up short and switched off the engine, but paused when Alex made no move to exit. He turned to his nephew, his expression unreadable, but this time Alex beat him to it.

"Next time when you're going off on business trips, Ian, don't bother telling me where you'll be going." Alex looked up, serious dark brown eyes unflinching at his guardian's stare. Alex cocked his head to one side, seeming to inhale a silent breath, before breaking into a small smile which didn't reach his eyes. "I think I'll know better."

Ian remained impassive, but Alex was already moving. He unlocked the door and slid out of his seat easily, shutting it behind him with a firm slam. Moments later Ian heard the front door open, and the vague sound of Alex calling out a cheerful greeting, which was returned with equally loud enthusiasm.

The words left unsaid continued to ring deafening in between both his ears.

. . .

* * *

-X-

. . .

True to Alex's request, Ian disappeared without a word the day after. A cautious glance into his bedroom proved that his luggage bags were still lying around – a small consolation that Ian was probably still somewhere around the country, or at least planned on returning soon. As such, it was an indignant Jack who was left to inform Alex that his guardian had departed in a black cab at dawn, and had not left behind any inclination as to when he would be back.

Alex took it all with barely a blink. It was a Saturday; he was already dressed in his normal sports attire, prepared to leave for knife-throwing practice. It was clear that he was determined to go through with his routine with or without Ian's supervision, but already Jack had seemingly set her heart on the contrary.

A stilted silence followed as Alex treated the news as if it were a passing non sequitur, finished his cereal and promptly left for the kitchen to wash up the dishes. When he emerged from the kitchen, wiping his wet hands down his trousers, Jack was already waiting for him at the table, an avaricious gleam in her eyes.

"Today, Alex, we shall be spending time together in the mall," she declared in a strangely calm voice devoid of her usual boisterous candour. Alex cast her a resigned look, but Jack prosed on doggedly on their weekend itinerary. "The guestroom curtains are in a sorry tatty state, so I figured we should have them replaced soon. There are also ingredients to buy, because if my memory serves me right, your birthday is right next week and I'd promised to bake you a cake. And then of course a visit to the arcade should be in tow, and perhaps a movie and McDonald's. Lots of fun, food, and good company. It's a far healthier way for a normal nine year old to spend his time, I would think, don't you agree?"

She had a way of alluding to Ian without actually mentioning his name. Alex could tell that she was still incensed on his behalf at Ian's wordless departure.

"I'm training because I like it, Jack," Alex replied quietly, forgoing any effort at pretense.

Strangely, there was an inexplicable weight in his heart as he spoke even if he was indeed telling the truth. To Ian, knife-throwing had not been a sport at all. Self-defense, he'd said.

Jack eyed him shrewdly, her façade of forced enthusiasm discarded.

"And of course nobody put you up to it," she said in a sardonic voice.

"You could say that," Alex retorted, fighting to quell his nascent desire to defend Ian. "I know you don't always agree with Ian's preferred 'healthy activities', but they _are_ fun," he insisted. Jack gave a derisive snort. "Maybe it's just a guy thing."

"I don't see the fun in facing a dull board of wood and stabbing it repeatedly in the same spot day in day out," Jack said stubbornly.

"The fun _is_ when you stab that dull board of wood in the same spot repeatedly," Alex pointed out. "And besides, how is archery less healthy than McDonald's?"

"But Alex, you won't have real _company_ ," Jack said, with a definite whiny edge entering her voice now. "And I'm not talking about an instructor standing over you and barking instructions hours on end – that doesn't count."

Alex briefly thought about Ian, when he was supervising Alex's training sessions – the thrilling demonstrations, challenges, the light-hearted banter - and wondered why his guardian didn't count as company, before he remembered Jack was under the impression that he was training under an actual qualified instructor with altogether too much time on his hands and who was available whenever Alex decided to show up. Jack would probably flip out if she ever learnt that Alex was hurling sharp objects about without adult supervision.

"Three hours," Alex conceded finally. "You give me three hours of free reign, and I'll spend the rest of the evening shopping or eating or whatever it is you like me to do."

Jack looked as if she was on the verge of protest, but in the end she only had one minor complaint. "You make shopping sound like a chore," she said accusingly, before relaxing into a bright smile. "But I guess it's a deal."

…

* * *

...

-X-

Alex did not leave for the sports facility. On impulse he made a detour to visit the Royal and General, parking his bicycle by the main entrance. At first he was unsure of what he would find; but soon was forced to admit there was hardly a single thing he could point out which was out of commonplace. A constant mill of customers flowing in and out of the reception, irate businessmen at being held up at the queue, impatient ladies crowded in a corner muttering darkly as they brandished their queue numbers. The activities within the building remained exactly within what the bank stood for, and for a moment Alex had the maddest notion that his wild speculations on Ian's job and the bank's true purpose was but an apocryphal story his mind had come up with.

Alex lingered around the ground floor for another five minutes before pushing through the revolving glass doors into the open air. His mind was a tangled web of knots, twisting and crossing over each other. Even after weeks of observations and private investigations, the infinitesimal bits of facts he'd gathered was tantamount to nothing. All he had was gut instinct, and a foreign visceral fear whenever Ian was called away by his job.

What exactly was Ian hiding? Was it related to the bank, or someplace else? And if the people he'd met yesterday were indeed Ian's employers, what had they wanted with Alex?

Alex glanced down surreptitiously at his hands. In the middle of his palm lay a small silver pen-drive snugly hidden in the curl of his fist. A flimsy sticker was taped on his body, and on it a wobbly handwriting 'DISCARD'.

Even though he had yet to plug in the pen-drive, Alex had a good idea as to whom it belonged to. The night before when he had been allowed into Smithers' office to try out the designed video game, Smithers had mentioned another bloke, Fields, who shared the other half of his working place. It turned out to be a vast overstatement, for Fields occupied only a pastel-coloured medium sized desk in the far corner of the room while Smithers' gadgets and projects filled up the rest; but in any case, it was there hidden between crevice of the sofa and the floor near Fields' end of the room that Alex had found the pen-drive.

A quick glance around Fields' clutter on his desk showed that the man had clearly been making an effort to stay organized; almost every file and paper had some sticky label or other, some had multiple stickers with plenty crossed out. A long list of reminders was stuck atop Fields' computer. Later when Alex had returned to the video game, pen-drive safely in hand, Fields had entered and startled badly at the sight of Alex. And staring back at Fields, Alex thought he gained a better insight into the man's position.

Fields was a balding middle-aged man with rheumy old eyes; and while he had neither Smithers' paunch nor large frame, he moved with minimal alacrity; always stopping every few steps to rub his leg joint and mutter something under his breath. Apparently he had quite the reputation of forgetting his duties, and the staff was privately counting down the days until he would be sacked for good. Problem was he had been a key figure in the industry, and a short-notice dismissal might encourage him to sell their secrets to other banks, so he'd been allowed to encroach upon a small space at Smithers' office.

It was a mark of how unpromising Fields seemed that Alex took one look at the man and promptly thought that Fields needed to buy more stickers.

It was also, with that thought in mind, which had Alex pocketing the pen-drive into his trainers and zipping up the pocket safely. He doubted the man would ever realize; especially when its contents were to be disposed of.

He had meant to try out the pen-drive as soon as possible, but Ian owned the only laptop they had at home, and it was locked in his office. His original plan would be to infiltrate the office again, or he could always use the school computer lab come Monday, but now he was presented with a better option. He had more than two hours' worth of free time on his hands, with no one monitoring his moves. The public library was only a few streets away.

It was an easy decision to make.

Alex mounted his bicycle and pedaled swiftly down the street, leaving the bank and its secrets behind. Grey pavement and dull green trees whizzed past in hazy shades as he weaved in and out of the traffic expertly, his mind occupied by a single thought. There were no other paths left for him down the road of his investigations; the pen-drive would probably be his last clue.

But in the end, the pen-drive did not let up to much information. When he finally plugged it into a library computer, all that popped up on-screen was a green cross marked in the middle of what which looked like a two-dimensional map. Squares represented buildings and two straight lines were streets. There was a series of alphabets and letters coding each of them, appearing wherever the cursor hovered. Alex stared at the cross for a few moments, but nothing else happened. He exited the window and tried searching for other files, but there were none available.

He returned to the map and scrutinized it closely. He could not recognize it, but then again it would be hard to even if it were a plan diagram of his own neighbourhood. There were no visible landmarks; most of them labelled by code; and for all he knew, it could be a map of anywhere at all in the world. Besides, there had to be a reason that Fields had named the pen-drive 'DISCARD'. Perhaps the information had been long-outdated and was of no importance. The map could mean nothing at all.

In the end Alex merely printed out a picture of the screen, unplugged the pen-drive and left. He followed through his original plan and cycled to the sports facility, where he trained alone for the remaining hour. Then he went home, showered and changed before capitulating to Jack's determination and accompanying her to the mall.

It was only towards late evening when they were on the way home that they heard the news: that someone had broken into the very same public library security office in the afternoon, though nobody knew why.

. . .

 **A/N: I apologize for the long wait. I had hoped inspiration would brew higher quality chapters, though unfortunately inspiration did not come fast, neither did it last remotely long. Hope you enjoyed it nevertheless, and do leave a review on the way out if you did... who knows, it may just trigger my writing streak :P**


	7. Chapter 7

_This_ , is what happens when you take a break from writing for over a year. Fellow writers be warned. I can scarce believe how laborious the efforts were to produce this chapter. I rewrote this from top to bottom five times! And I'm still not particularly pleased about it. Though I figured that this would still be better than a permanent hiatus, so here were are. Cheers!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 7**_

The news of the public library break-in did not make it into the late evening news, neither did it appear in the morning paper. However, it spread quickly by word of mouth, and by the time Alex heard the story the truth had been distorted into doubtful proportions.

"It was all in the name of love," Jack drew the final conclusion when she relayed the tale to Alex. "There were two men after the florist's daughter. One of them was a security guard in the public library. I suppose the other guy got intimidated, so he gathered a few friends to barge in and roughen him up a bit. Rumour has it the security guard lost the girl in the end, poor bloke."

Alex frowned. "That doesn't explain why the story didn't appear in the papers," he pointed out.

Jack waved a hand in dismissal. "They probably didn't find it newsworthy enough. That's the press for you nowadays. I swear all they care about are _huge_ disgusting crimes, or esoteric topics like share markets and political plays. Well _I_ don't care for the newspapers either. It's all bad news and tragedy. How Ian stomach breakfast while reading it is beyond me."

With a disdainful sniff, she flicked the paper off its customary place in front of Ian's empty seat.

It was a cold, grey Sunday afternoon dampened by a long and weary drizzle. Ian had not returned, and the weather restricted Alex's weekend activities indoors. After all the adventure he'd had the previous two days: from attending Ian's company dinner, stealing the pen-drive and furthering his investigations, Alex found himself sinking into new throes of boredom when left to his own devices.

Correction: when left to his own devices under supervision.

Every now and then his thoughts wandered to the printed map upstairs. He had stayed up the night before, turning it upside-down and many other directions besides, mimicking squints of patients with myopia and hyperopia respectively, to no avail. The salient points of the map eluded him, and he identified no prominent landmarks. The codes were indecipherable. He was no closer to solving the mystery of the pen-drive and by default, the true nature of Ian's job; and he found that despite his initial tenaciousness, his efforts had slowly dwindled to desultory attempts at the constant barricade of blank walls he faced.

He had one last idea left, though. If he could somehow manage to plug in the pen-drive into _Ian's_ laptop… perhaps it would be less stinting with its secrets. It was but a pious hope, but he had run out of other options.

It was with that anticipation of a plan which had Alex settling down to bide patiently for his opportunity. Meanwhile Jack had withdrawn to her TV couch with her chin on her knees as she wept silent tears over some tragic romantic soap opera. Alex couldn't help but frown over the flawed logic. Newspapers were condemned to be her anathema for the sole reason of bringing tales of tragedies, and yet here she was completely absorbed in a delusional one.

An hour rolled around, and another. By four forty-five Jack suddenly realized that they were all out of groceries save the lone egg, and immediately bolted up for a mad dash to Sainsbury's. Alex hid a grin as he watched her rush hurriedly outside. Finally, after a long day of lazing and inaction, his chance had arrived.

. . .

The climb towards Ian's office window via the next available tree branch proved just as perilous as the last. If Alex had been taller, he might have been able to cross the meter-wide gap between the branch and the ledge without resorting to a frog leap (which move had nearly cost him his humerus previously). However, perhaps due to past experience on his part, in the end his jump was an execution of perfection, and he hauled himself up triumphantly sustaining little more than a scratch.

A minute later, and he was in, the window closed behind him. Adrenaline was thrumming beneath his pulse, like a pleasant buzz rippling through his system; and with it the return of the sharpness of his senses. Alex relished the sensation; it felt as if the cobwebs of the afternoon were being blown away. Using his sleeve, Alex swiped off the stray droplets dotting the sill, and satisfied that he had erased all evidence, he turned towards the office desk.

Immediately he could see that there had been a few slight changes to the office since he had been away. For one, there was a new rug he couldn't remember seeing lying on the threshold, and sitting where Ian's laptop had been was now an unfamiliar box of plain navy blue. The laptop itself had been pushed to the right corner of the desk, where it sat a mere palm's width from the edge.

Alex did not ponder long on these changes. After all fifteen minutes were a short amount of time, and he still had to make his descent within said time limit. He crossed the short distance to switch on the laptop, then, as the screen slowly blinked to life, he threw caution to the wind and lifted the box cover unceremoniously for a little peek. He highly doubted Ian had the means to plant an alarm system in a mere box anyway.

What he saw made him stop short. Lying before him was a leaf blade almost twice the length of his forearm. Even to the eyes of a beginner, the weapon possessed a deadly beauty; a slender, curved hilt attached to a body carved from fine, polished steel. The blade itself extended a little less than two thirds the length of the knife before tapering off to form the point of the leaf, where its opposing side ran in mirrored symmetry. Even in the mizzled grey light, the blade burned a cold fierce blue-silver.

Already his finger itched to run across the smooth blade, to curl around the hilt, but abruptly something else drew Alex's attention. Attached neatly to the inside of the box cover was a note written in familiar cursive print. There was only a single line.

 _'Alex:'_ it wrote,

 _If this somehow finds you early, happy birthday anyway._

His heart skipped a beat. There was no name nor signature left on the note, but the neat miniscule handwriting was a dead giveaway. A shiver passed down his spine. _If this somehow finds you early._ Was this a warning, indicating that Ian _knew_ Alex had been infiltrating his office? Or, god forbid, given the dangerous nature of Ian's job, was this a last departing gift to Alex should Ian never return? Knowing his guardian, Ian had probably meant it both ways. The image of Zhao abruptly flashed in his mind. Alex closed the lid, feeling slightly nauseated.

Ian would be fine. How many times had he left wordlessly, only to turn up again days later? He had always returned. There was no cause for worry.

A small voice whispered traitorously, but surely one day his luck would run out, and Ian would never come back again.

He squashed down the thought mercilessly.

He turned back to the laptop, an action almost ponderous with the effort it required. Almost on autopilot, he keyed in the password which remained unchanged, and plugged in the pen-drive.

It took him a few full seconds to register what he was seeing. The map he had seen the day before was nowhere in sight. Instead, it had now been replaced with another of similar layout: rectangles and lines representing roads and buildings. But where the previous landscape was monotonous and unassuming, Alex could now recognize the few prominent landmarks easily. The two-dimensional sketch of a statue. The rows of shop houses, and further up a bridge over what was almost certainly a river.

He was looking at a map of Fallows' Square.

In this new familiar territory, the green cross which had stayed mulishly in a corner on the previous map no longer assumed its static condition. Rather, it was currently travelling to the middle of the square, circling round the statue as it did so. For a moment he stared uncomprehending at the sudden development of things, and it wasn't only until Alex saw the neon flashing sign in the top corner when he finally pieced two and two together.

The pen-drive did not contain a map after all.

It was a tracker.

An honest-to-gods MI6-esque James Bond-ish tracker.

 **Location tracked.**

A thrill seized him. The green cross had stopped off the crossroads leading to Whitehall Street, presumably somewhere near the fountains. Alex moved the cursor over to the nearest building, and an icon showing its code appeared: CA010. Someone, though he had no idea who, was currently stopping over at a shop in Fallows' Square, which had been labelled CA010. He had no idea how or why Ian's company possessed the means to plant a tracker on somebody else, neither did he understand the reasoning, but it was more than anything he had hoped for.

Suddenly there was a quiet buzz, and a new window materialized on screen. Alex's eyes darted across the single line. **_New message received. Please key in user credentials for access._**

He hesitated only for a fraction of a second. Heart thudding in his chest, Alex keyed in the same password for Ian's laptop and clicked 'ENTER'.

-X-

* * *

"Good evening sir. This is Andrews calling from the security office."

His eyes flickered up. The office was silent as a grave. "Andrews," he greeted amicably. "What news do you have for me?"

"It's about the missing company equipment you told me about. The user has just activated it again. Shall I send over the exact coordinates?"

"That would be a great help indeed. Thank you."

He moved to severe the line, but Andrews continued speaking. "Are you quite sure the equipment has been reported as lost, sir? The signal is coming from a residential area registered as one of the company agents' residence." A pause. "It appears to be in the hands of one agent Ian Rider."

A forced chuckle rose to his throat.

"Indeed! Perhaps I had merely been misinformed." His voice was light. "Thank you for your help, Andrews."

The line went dead.

* * *

-X-

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. It echoed dully around the empty halls, unanswered. Then a rumble of thunder drowned it out, and then the world meted back into silence.

Alex sat still on Ian's office chair, frozen at the unexpected intrusion. Outside, rain was beginning to fall, slapping pelts of droplets against the window pane. Aside from the whirring of the laptop, there was nothing else to be heard.

Cautiously Alex slipped off the leather chair. Instinct heralded him towards the window, but even so he knew it would be foolish to peer openly through a glass pane. He switched off the table lamp, shrouding himself in denser shadows, and slipped closer to his route of infiltration. He noted that night had fallen quickly while he had been in the office, preceded by dark grey thunderclouds.

For a full minute Alex listened closely, but he heard nothing but his quickened heartbeat and the slap of the rain. Had he imagined the sound of the doorbell after all? A hallucination stemming from his paranoia?

Suddenly, a vibrating hum interrupted his thoughts. His phone screen had lit up, buzzing angrily as if in retaliation of being put on silent mode. Alex saw the caller ID and felt slight relief wash over him. He stabbed the receive button.

"Jack?"

"Alex!" Jack's familiar voice gushed through the speakers. "I'm _so_ sorry – there's a terrible storm here and my umbrella is wrecked. I'm trying to get a taxi but they're being rather elusive. I might be really late for dinner."

Far below the doorbell rang again a second time. It was clear and distinct now that he was listening closely. Ice crept into his veins. Ian had the house keys. Jack was still caught in the rain. Who would visit at this hour, in the middle of a brewing storm?

" – there are some tid-bits left in the fridge, and if I'm not mistaken there might be one instant shepherd's pie left; I know Ian thinks it's better for it to go to the sewer, him and his health ideals, but he's not – er – around, is he? Alex?"

Alex had barely listened to her diatribe. Pricklets raised across his skin, coalescing into a cold block of fear which clutched at the base of his neck down to his spine. Something was wrong. It couldn't have been a mere coincidence. What time had he left the public library yesterday? When had the break-in occurred? Why had it not appeared in the newspapers? In his agitation he paced back to the office desk, oblivious to Jack's voice hailing his name from the speaker. The laptop screen was still lit, displaying the map he had identified as Fallows' Square. The green cross had settled in a building labelled CA004. His eyes travelled to the red dot blinking at the top of the screen.

 **Location tracked.**

He stopped.

What if it did not mean the target's location was tracked? What if it meant _him_? He had first activated the pen-drive in the public library, and not long after, someone else had broken in. _One of them was a_ _security guard,_ Jack had said. Meaning, the men had broken into the security office. What for? Surveillance footage.

His blood ran to ice. Downstairs the door began juddering against its frame in earnest. It could be the wind, except that it was blowing in the entirely wrong direction.

" _Hellooo –_ is anybody on the – "

Jack's sing-song voice, utterly incongruous with the situation he was in, snapped him out of his stunned stupor. Alex brought the phone to his ear, barely managing to keep his voice level.

"It's fine Jack," he said shortly. "I'll call you later."

He severed the line. Loud and furious knocking was now issuing from the living room, unmistakable for the effects of a vile weather. Above the sharp _ping ping ping_ of the pelting rain against the window, he could hear voices, calling something unintelligible. A sharp spike of fear scattered his thoughts, but he clamped down on it viciously, boxing the instinct to panic instantly in a dark room of his mind. The front door was several inches of thick solid wood; the lock custom-made to prevent easy picking. At most, they would buy him three minutes. The moment they entered the house, he could slip out of the window, scale down the tree and make a run for his bike. Nobody would expect his avenue of escape.

The sound of something heavy impacting wood boomed deafeningly, threatening to shake the foundations of the house. It was almost as loud as the thunder, adding to the chaos. In the hazy darkness of the office, Alex immediately seized one of Ian's empty laptop backpacks and began hastily throwing in everything important: the laptop, the pen-drive, his phone, the throwing knife, still in its casing. His blood was thundering through his veins, making it hard to hear anything else around him. But it was just as well, for silence was no longer a trusted ally. The men downstairs had already thrown all caution to the wind.

An almighty crash resonated through the house, so loud it was as if his heart had been assaulted by the impact of its force. Alex swung the backpack over his shoulder and ran towards the window, flinging it wide open. Immediately, the roar of the wind greeted him with its full ferocity; it drove the cold rain at him with speeds which stung his face and hands. But Alex had barely registered the cold. All that mattered was the tree branch reaching towards him invitingly, breaking the far drop to the ground.

With adroitness borne of practice, Alex slipped neatly out of the window onto the precarious ledge. The rain made the measly foothold slippery and more dangerous still, making it more difficult to find his balance. With an almighty lunge, Alex threw himself forwards into the air, and right before gravity could snatch him clean he hooked an arm over the rough bark of the branch. The momentum juddered viciously up his entire arm, threatening to yank his arm out of its socket, but he quickly looped his other free hand around it and within moments righted himself. Nursing his slightly pulled muscle, Alex half-crawled his way down the branch until he reached the point low enough for him to make the final jump. He barely gave it a moment's glance before he leapt for the ground, rolling forwards to absorb the impact.

A harsh crack of lightning and thunder split the sky.

In his haste to escape, and in the thickening rain and darkness, Alex had failed to notice that someone was standing guard just round the corner, mere metres away from where he crouched. It was only for the split second before the wash of brilliant white winked out, that Alex caught sight of the first man. He was dressed in complete black with a cap pulled low, his back half-turned. But more than that Alex caught sight of a symbol drawn at the side of the man's neck – one he'd recognized instantly from the file he'd viewed from Ian's laptop. A perfect circle of blood red, just like the one which had adorned the late Zhao's neck.

At Alex's sudden movement, the man had abruptly spun around. Quick as lightning, Alex shrunk backwards against the wall as far as he could. He barely dared to breathe. All he could do was hope that the rain and wind would provide him sufficient cover until he could escape. There was nowhere else for Alex to hide. His bike was parked not far from where the man was, but he had no hope of reaching it before the other did.

For a tense minute the man did not move away, neither did he approach Alex's hiding spot. But something must have tipped him off because he tilted his head sideways as if studying the patch of floor where Alex was standing – and Alex was suddenly alerted to the reality of the danger he was facing. He hadn't noticed it initially, but a quick flash of lightning above had revealed the weapon in the man's hand: a long, curved combat knife.

Immediately Alex's hand flinched, as if automatically reaching for the backpack where he'd kept the throwing knife Ian had gifted him, but he clamped down on the irrational urge. Next to the man's weapon, his leaf blade was but a child's toy. He could not afford to betray his precarious position, especially when he was in no state to overpower the other.

For a shadow of a heartbeat, the man's eyes cut clean across the grounds to exactly where he was. Alex tensed, ready to flee the moment was discovered. Then, a loud crash came from inside the house, and a man's voice called out something in a foreign language. Distracted, the man spun away and headed quickly for the house, his weapon raised.

It was now or never.

It was as if a spell had been undone; the moment the man entered through the wide-open front door, Alex bolted round the corner after him. With only his muscle memory guiding him through a motion he'd performed thousands of times, he grabbed his bike, swung onto it and kicked off in a single swift motion. The light from the living room illuminated his figure fully; had the man turned around he would almost certainly have seen Alex in plain sight. But Alex didn't know if he had been seen, didn't know if someone was raising a knife to his back at that moment. He didn't care. He focused all he had on the pedals, left right left right, his bike spurting forwards across the empty garage in a burst of inhuman speed.

Thunder boomed.

The gates hung open limply, creaking under the buffeting of the wind. In a second, he had reached the partition. The moment his bike hit gravel, Alex veered right and made an impossibly sharp turn. The tyres skidded slightly at the motion, but by sheer will Alex immediately wrenched back control of his bike. And then, before he knew it, he was pedalling furiously down the roads, his figure a blurring shadow melting rapidly into the darkness, the backpack hanging heavily from his shoulders. He didn't know where he was going nor did he have any plan, except to leave the house behind as fast as possible. A few times the tyres slipped on puddles and mud, but he never stopped, not even to look behind. The rain stung his skin, soaking his hair and clothes and chilled him further still, but swept in the thrill of his escape he felt nothing. He raced the whole way past streetlamps and houses without pause even after he had left the outskirts of the neighbourhood.

He went on for what seemed like ages, in a haze of adrenaline and rapidly deepening cold. Finally, when he decided he had gone far enough to shake off his pursuers, he turned into an empty street where he spotted an alcove which could provide some shelter from the rain. He pressed on the brakes gently, slowly steering his bike to a halt beside the shelter before ducking in.

His phone was buzzing in earnest again. Tiredly he sank down onto the damp seats and dug through his backpack one-handed. His fingers closed around the familiar rectangular body of his mobile and yanked it to the surface. He checked the screen. There was no caller ID on display.

He put the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Alex?"

A rush of relief flooded his senses at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Ian," he greeted, trying not to betray his emotions. In light of everything that had happened, the thought of his guardian's absence had completely slipped his mind.

"Are you alright?"

The sudden question momentarily floored him. Frantically Alex scrambled around for a plausible retort, but he found nothing.

"Y-Yeah," he managed, finally. He didn't know what else to say. He wanted to fire back a reasonable 'why shouldn't I be?' but it died instantly on his tongue. Ian probably already knew what had transpired, or he wouldn't have called.

"Where are you?" Ian demanded instead. It was the first question that finally allowed some form of emotion to seep into his guardian's voice. It was tight, almost angry. Abruptly Alex felt a well of inexplicable shame and guilt wash over him, but he squashed it down.

"Out," he replied curtly. "Why?"

"Someone has infiltrated the house. The alarm systems have all been tripped. I called to warn you but you never picked up."

The almost hidden accusation and its implications hit him. As quickly as it had come, the initial defensiveness drained out of him completely. Alex swallowed. By now, it would only be foolish to pretend that he knew nothing.

"You rarely ever pick up my phone calls anyway," he replied finally. His voice completely neutral, leaving no bite in them. Then he abruptly remembered something. "Jack," he said in newfound realization, "did you call Jack? Where is she?"

"Jack is currently heading back towards the house," Ian replied in a clipped tone. "The police have arrived, and are most probably investigating the scene as we speak. I would advise you to contact Jack immediately as she is currently under the impression that you were still in the house and have either been kidnapped or killed." There was a strange blandness in Ian's voice which seemed out of place as he said the words. More than that, there was an undercurrent threat of quiet anger still, lurking beneath the surface. Alex moved to say more, but something made him pause. In the brief pause during their conversation, he could hear loud voices blaring in the background through Ian's end, as if over a loudspeaker. _'-adies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Welcome to the 53_ _rd_ _annual local fair here at Fallows' Square! Enjoy any ride fo-"_

"I have to go," Ian said.

"Wait," Alex said. His heartbeat had accelerated as his epiphany struck; he was almost certain it could be heard on the other end. "Are – are you injured?"

Ian paused for a moment, as if considering the question. He could almost envision the other's thoughts; weighing out the options and the decision to lie. Then, "My leg. I was knocked over by a motorcycle."

Blood thundered in his ears.

"Oh," he said, barely managing to hold up his façade of light-heartedness. "Which leg? Right or left?"

A pause, "Right."

"Okay. No chance of parkour demonstrations, then." He was fast losing control of his breathing; for a moment he was certain that he would be found out. "When are you coming back?"

This time, Ian didn't deign him with an answer. "I'll see you later, Alex," he said. Then the line went dead.

Alex stared numbly at the phone in his hands. Suddenly the message he'd seen on Ian's laptop minutes before the men had broken into the house made sense. The pieces were slowly falling into place. The pen-drive had never been meant to be discarded; the sticky label had been a means of disguise.

The brief message flashed into his mind.

 **RGT LEG INJRED. CHSE IMPSSBLE. 3 LFT. BK-UP REQ LURE 2 CA010.**

. . .

* * *

 _Yikes, sorry. I don't update for ages and I end it at a cliffie. Go on ahead and kill me. I deserve it. Then again, this chapter actually covered a lot of ground, so I hope the wait was worth it… despite the possibly-choppy writing. Agh. I really tried._

 _Special shout-out of thanks to the reviewers for the last chapter: lilt, M-chanchen, thebicky, Pyruvate, Blackbird0 and ripsw, and of course all guests and dear faithful readers. It is my hope that this will be my second complete multi-chaptered fic, in the er, near future, so your encouragement and input are all very much in need. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoyed reading this nevertheless :)_

 _P.S.: Who read 'Never Say Die'? I didn't even know there was a new book! Is it worth the read though, or is it another repetition of Alex getting caught by the enemy, the enemy blurts his secrets and Alex escapes? I loved the series, but I have to admit that that same plot is getting a liiiittle old after nine books._


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